The Untouchables (edited to remove errors)
by Marcus Gaudry
Summary: At the request of the Assistant Director, the team goes to Lewiston New York to investigate the hanging deaths of town leaders and soon begin to suspect the UnSub is settling a twenty year old grudge.
1. Chapter 1

_Lewiston, New York_

It was starting to get chilly in the mornings, as Peter and Ellen Macintyre had discovered as they set out on their Saturday Morning jog through Devil's Hole Park just a little after dawn. It was early September, so summer was coming to an end; soon school would be back in session, and their two children were getting set to go into 4th and 7th grade

"Are you ready?" Peter asked as they did their warm up stretches.

"Are you?" Ellen countered. "Do you think you can keep up?"

Peter laughed. "That's some pretty big talk." He said. "The way I remember it, you're always the one lagging behind."

Ellen punched Peter playfully in the ribs. "You better watch yourself; you're about to get embarrassed!"

"Okay, tough girl," Peter countered. "I'll tell you what; I'll give you a ten second head start."

It was Ellen's turn to laugh. "It's your dignity!" She said taking off down the trail they chose in a sprint. The way they chose trails was like this: For one week the trails are chosen by Ellen, the next week Peter did. This week was a Peter week. Peter counted to ten, all the while thinking about how Ellen was just going to burn herself out and make it easier for him to catch up and overtake her lead.

Her ten seconds were up; Peter drew in a deep breath and started an even paced jog along the trail that Ellen sprinted down. He saw no need to rush; he would catch up easily enough.

And that was when he heard her scream.

Peter picked up the pace to full tilt to reach her. As to be expected, she wasn't terribly far ahead. In fact she was even closer than she ought to have been; she had stopped dead in her tracks on the path and stood paralyzed at the site only a few yards ahead of her.

The path was blocked by a man that Peter knew all too well hanging by his neck from a rope tied into a noose and threaded over a branch. Ellen dropped to her knees; she knew the man, too. Everyone in town knew this man; he was on the Town Council, and had been a resident of Lewiston his whole life. His name was Kyle Bernstein.

It was around the same time as Ellen and Peter discovered Kyle on the trail in Devil's Hole Park that Philip Curtis was cruising into town in his Mustang GT. He grew up in Lewiston, but had booked out of this small minded, conformist, All-American-Postcard pile of garbage burg as soon as he graduated and took up an apprenticeship in Buffalo. It wasn't far from his 'home town' but it was far enough. As he was rolling into town in order to take care of a couple of things before attending the 20 year anniversary of his class graduation, a pair of cop cars wailed past him, heading towards Devil's Hole. It was probably some airhead kids passed out high or drunk in the park; Philip figured. It was certainly no concern to him. Depending on whose kids they were, it might make the front page around here, though.

He turned right, and drove right past Cunningham's Garage, est. 2000. One of his clients back in Buffalo recommended the place for good rates on parking while in Lewiston. The poor sap obviously had no clue that Philip knew the asshat that ran Cunningham's and would no sooner be a patron of his establishment than he would give Kenny Cunningham the time of day. Still, the client in question was a good customer, so Philip just smiled, nodded, and thanked him for the tip. As he drove past, Philip saw that a couple of squad cars were parked in front, lights flashing. It was obviously a lively Friday night in Lewiston; two calls early Saturday morning.

"They better call for back up." He remarked to himself. "The Keystone Cops of Lewiston are getting caught flat-footed again."

He wondered briefly what kind of trouble Kenny was in this time, and how he would manage to slip his fat ass out of the sling now that his glory days in high school are ancient history. Maybe he would ask at the reunion; probably not, but it might be good for a laugh- if only because of the irony.

Dismissing that thought, Philip Curtis hung a left and headed towards the Motel 6; it would make for a crappy few nights, but at least not even Lewiston New York could screw that place up. Besides, if memory served right the Motel 6 was now run by 'Topher Larson; who was one of maybe a dozen people in the whole town who were not a complete waste of flesh.

Once he was booked in, Philip had someone to visit in cemetery; that was the real reason he even bothered coming up this way.

 _Washington, DC_

As was ritual, Sergio had hopped up onto Emily's chest to nuzzle her chin while purring loudly and to mewl at her, announcing that it was time for breakfast. This was something that SSA Emily Prentiss had come to appreciate, even love. Rising from bed, she forced Sergio to leap down to the floor and scamper ahead of her to the kitchen and his dish.

Now that Sergio was fed, and Emily had showered and dressed, she was starting to make a breakfast for herself when her phone rang; the call display told her it was the Assistant Director of the FBI.

"Prentiss," she greeted.

"Agent Prentiss, this is Assistant Director Barnes." The voice on the other end of the line replied. "Let me start by congratulate your team on a job well done in California."

"Thank you, Ma'am." Prentiss replied, waiting for the all but inevitable qualifier. That was the thing with Barnes; she always offset everything with some sort of catch. It was either some criticism, or else she was going about the business of trying to micromanage the BAU.

"I spoke with the Director," Barnes continued, "and we agree that a specific assignment requires your team's immediate attention. I have already started the process of contacting the other team members and assembling them, and have provided Technical Analyst Penelope Garcia with the salient information we currently have for the case."

Emily grinned bitterly; micromanagement it was, then. "Alright; I'm on my way out the door right now."

"Of course, Dr Reid will not be active in this case; he's still on leave due the concussion he endured, and there is the mandatory leave clause on him." Barnes quickly added.

"Yes, Ma'am," Prentiss said. "He's doing a lecture today; I believe it's on the science behind geographical profiling."

"I'm sure that'll be fine." Barnes said before ending the call.

Even as Prentiss was leaving her DC apartment, SSA Matt Simmons was arriving at the BAU in Quantico. Assistant Director Barnes appeared to be once again using her stroke within the Bureau to once again dictate which of their cases took priority. After her last attempt to 'streamline' the team to her liking, Simmons did not like or particularly respect Barnes. That was actually the second time he ran into trouble with her; the first time was when she dismantled the Beyond Borders Division of the BAU that Simmons was on previously. Still, he supposed, this was just something he would have to put up with; though after her last PR bungle, Simmons had to wonder how she kept her job.

He got to the conference room. Already there were Alvez, JJ, Lewis, and Rossi. Reid was on mandatory leave; doing a lecture on Geographic Profiling. Simmons noticed that Rossi's arm was no longer in a sling; it turned out that the sprain caused by Rodriguez was considerably more serious than originally thought.

"Hey, Dave," Simmons greeted. "I see your wing is out of the sling."

Rossi raised his arm and clenched his fist a number of times. "It's good as new." He replied. "It seems my arm wrestling career is going to be safe, after all."

Garcia came into the conference room, her files already ready to go. Matt took a seat at the table as Penelope made quick work of getting ready with her presentation.

"Emily is on her way." Garcia commented. "I've already briefed her on what I'm about to show you, and she said to get started without her and she'll catch up when she gets here, so... here goes."

"Prentiss being the last one in the room, that doesn't happen very often." Rossi noted.

"I know, but apparently Barnes had just contacted her." Garcia commented. "I can't say for sure, but it sounded to me like Emily was the last one to get the call, and considering that everyone else besides Reid is here, I'm guessing that I'm right."

"That's strange. You'd think the Unit Chief would be the first to get the call." Tara Lewis said.

"Well, it's no secret that Barnes still has some kind of issue with Emily," JJ said. "Maybe this is about that."

"I don't like it." Simmons commented. "I know Barnes; and this feels like she's setting up to make a move. I'd advise we all tread very carefully until we find out what's really going on."

"That's probably wise." Alvez agreed. "The best thing right now would be to carry on, and see what we can do to brace ourselves for whatever's coming our way. Meanwhile, let's let Garcia have the floor with whatever it is that Barnes wants us to prioritize."

"Thank you, Newbie," Garcia said, clicking her clicker to put the first image on the monitor; it looked to Simmons like a postcard of small town America. "Our next destination is Lewiston, New York. If ever there was a place in the country that qualifies to the postcard town of the mythical American Dream, this is it. However, even places like this have their share of nightmares."

She clicked again. The image changed to a split screen of two white men, both looking to be in their late thirties. The one on the right Simmons recognized; Kyle Bernstein was a relatively fit man who had been the news once or twice. Garcia went on to announce that the member of the Town Council was found hanging from his neck early this morning by a couple of joggers in Devil's Hole Park. Simmons did not recognize the man clearly heavy-set of about the same age as Bernstein on the left hand side of the screen.

"At approximately the same time, Kenneth Cunningham, age 38, was found in his place of business by an employee; Cunningham, owner of Cunningham's Garage, was also hanging from his neck."

"We have two hanging deaths in one night?" Rossi inquired. "I take it we can rule out a double suicide."

"According to Barnes, both men were highly successful, well respected and considered iconic figures of the town. Neither of them had any reason to kill themselves; neither were experiencing any undue stressors or significant life changes, and neither had any history of depression or any mental disorders." Garcia replied.

"Coming from a small town myself," JJ chimed in, "it does seem unlikely that two people would commit suicide on the same night unless it was some kind of pact. That said, there's a chance the rest of the town may be willfully blind; something like this might be too much for them to even think about."

"Then we should acknowledge that it's unlikely, we can't entirely rule out suicide." Lewis suggested. "Of course we'll investigate, but we might want to keep that in mind."

"Agreed," Alvez said, "unless there's something else about these deaths to rule out suicide."

"As little as I like to bring it up, I'm actually glad you mentioned that." Garcia replied. "Both victims suffered a blunt force blow to the back of the head."

"Then we're probably looking at a blitz attack followed by homicide by hanging." Prentiss said, entering the conference room. "While this is a Barnes case, almost certainly chosen for political reasons, it deserves our full attention. We can continue this conversation on our way to Lewiston; wheels up in twenty."

 _Lewiston, New York_

In his supply shed out back of his home, he perused through his old graduating year annual; specifically through the headshots of the graduating class. He had already drawn a red 'X' through the photograph of Kyle Bernstein, so he flipped the page and found Kenneth 'Kenny' Cunningham so he could do the same to that photo. He had taken two down, two to go; or so he thought. That was until he saw that _he_ showed up.

He had to be added to the list; he ran away. He did nothing. He let the evil in this town continue to grow and flourish. He let them get away with it. He had to pay, just like the rest of them. Now the question was; would he be next, or should he be saved for last?

Flipping the pages, he paused briefly at the photograph of Stan Evans: Mr. Big shot. Mr. Captain. Mr. Hero. It was all he could do to keep from tearing the page out of the book and ripping it to shreds. Twenty years later, the big football hero is coming home to coach his old high school team. Soon, they'd all see that truth and justice will always prevail. Their lies will be revealed. Soon, they'd all learn that nobody is immune; nobody is beyond reach.

He'd waited twenty years for this chance; he could hold on a few more days. He gently closed the annual and turned to look at the framed picture of Christine 'Tina' Larson, around which he kept a fresh wreath of her favorite flowers. Very soon, now, the wrongs against her would be set right. He'd see to that.

But to make it so, he didn't have just two more to pay back; he had three. That meant he had another noose to prepare; a task he was more than willing to begin right away...


	2. Chapter 2

_On the Jet_

It was bound to be a relatively short flight, and it was clear to JJ that everyone on board were certainly willing to take this case on, but it felt like this one was being spoon fed to the team. For herself, she kept finding her mind pulled away from the case and onto whatever it was that Barnes was up to this time.

There was, of course, the obvious answer; Lewiston was a picture-perfect example of the American Dream. Clearly this was, at least in part, about maintaining the veneer of that dream. Also, so far both victims were prominent members of the community; one a successful businessman and the other a popular member of Town politics. Kyle Bernstein had even been on the National News a few times; there was even some buzz that he would have had a decent shot at State Politics in the very near future – possibly even as Governor eventually. With all of that in the mix, this was obviously a PR case; Barnes was trying to make sure the FBI looked good. Knowing Barnes, however, there almost had to be something else going on; one thing was certain, the team could not afford to have this case go sideways on them

Garcia had joined them via the monitor on the on-board computer. She put photos of the crime scenes.

"So here's what we're looking at." Emily started. "We have two victims; one a well-to-do garage owner/operator, the other a highly influential member of the town's council. Both are white, and in their late thirties."

"Well, this UnSub certainly has a type." Lewis offered up. "He's targeting upper class white men of influence and power."

"I'm looking at these images and I can't help but think they look like lynching." Rossi commented. "Maybe we're looking for someone of lower income."

"Or maybe the UnSub feels these two have wronged him somehow." Alvez suggested. "Could be he's settling a score?"

"That's possible," JJ said. "Granted, it's a bit extreme, but we've seen small town rivalries get out of hand before."

"Garcia," Prentiss called. "See if you can find any overlap between the victims. Look specifically for anyone they have in common that may be unhappy with either or both of them."

"Lewiston is a town of just over 16 thousand people; there's a lot of overlap everywhere. As in, when you look at from the safe and warm glow of my screens it could almost look a little kinky. My point is that it will take some sifting to work through it all; which I will get right on top of like a prospector panning for gold in the river." Garcia replied. "I can tell you right away that Peter and Ellen Macintyre, the joggers who found Bernstein are both dentists; and both Bernstein and Cunningham use them. The employee who found Cunningham is a part time janitor for the garage named David Dayton; as he is only sixteen years old, his parents are with him at the Sheriff's office now."

"We can't really do much profiling until we see everything first hand." Prentiss declared. "Tara, you'll go to the Medical Examiner and look at the autopsy reports. Matt, JJ, you go to the Bernstein scene in the park. Dave, you and Luke go the garage to look at the Cunningham scene. I'll get us set up with Town Sheriff and get started on interviewing the witnesses that found the bodies."

As the plane began its descent, JJ noted that Matt was silent all through the flight; he seemed lost in thought. Since she was going with him to the park when they landed, she would have to get him to open up.

 _Lewiston, New York_

"The cause of death of both men was strangulation." The Examiner told Dr. Tara Lewis. "I wouldn't be surprised if to you that might seem obvious given they were both found hanging by the neck, but that's not actually the case"

"The original cause of death by hanging was meant to be a snapping of the neck." Dr. Lewis confirmed. "It was all very carefully balanced out; the weight of the condemned balanced off against the length of the drop in order get the desired effect."

"Right," the Examiner said. "However in the case of our two friends here, they weren't dropped at all. They were in fact hoisted up off the ground and then left to hang; choking quite slowly. Look, you can see it in the ligature marks," She showed Lewis the necks of Cunningham and Bernstein, "and you can see here the rope fibers under their fingernails."

Lewis examined them. Indeed there were fibers, just as the Examiner said. Lewis had to wonder if perhaps the UnSub stayed to watch as they fought with desperate futility for their lives. It seemed likely; after all, the means by which he was killing them was clearly meant to make them suffer as they died.

"What can you tell me about the blows to their heads?" Lewis asked.

"The bruising is consistent on both victims with a monkey wrench."

"Let me guess," Lewis commented. "Ken Cunningham was most likely the first victim." This made the most sense; the UnSub used a wrench from the garage to subdue Cunningham, killed him, and then took the wrench with him when he left to get to Bernstein.

"That's right; by at least an hour or two." The examiner confirmed.

Dr. Tara Lewis was starting to get a good picture of what this UnSub was like. The fact that he likely used a weapon of opportunity from the garage would suggest an unorganized killer, but it was likely he brought a noose and whatever rig he needed with him; that said organized killer. Also, he was almost certainly a local, or at the very least very familiar with the town; he knew when to strike without being detected. As a local, he could move around easily without raising any suspicion. Taking the wrench to appear unorganized for the first kill could very well have been deliberate; he could be using the tools of Cunningham's trade against him. That could be part of some revenge play.

SSA's David Rossi and Luke Alvez arrived at Cunningham's garage, showing their credentials to get past the police tape around the parking lot and into the garage. One thing that had to be said for the cops and techs on this scene; they were taking their job seriously. The Techs had set up a path of contamination so as to mitigate corrupting any evidence, and they were wearing their space bunny suits on top of that. The Deputy on the scene was waiting at one end of the path for the techs to finish their sweep.

"Well, the town is sparing no expense in making sure they get this one right." Rossi said to Alvez as they approached the Deputy. "This guy must be important."

"At least they're keeping the scene intact other than removing the body for examination." Alvez replied, pointing out the noose still hanging high overhead. It was thrown over a beam that ran across the garage about half way up to the roof. Rossi followed the trail that Alvez pointed along to where the other end of the rope was tied to the front bumper of an older model Ford Lincoln. The Lincoln was at the far end of the garage and the rope was very nearly pulled to its limit. By David's estimation, the UnSub was lucky the bumper didn't fall off while he backed the car up after setting up this lynching.

Dave introduced himself and SSA Luke Alvez to the Deputy as they showed their badges.

"I thought you guys would be going to the Sheriff's office first." The Deputy commented. "Not that it's a problem; I just figured you'd have to set up or something."

"Our unit chief is taking care of that right now." Rossi said. He gave the garage an almost casual looking over. "So what do we have here?" He asked.

"David Dayton, who works here part time as a janitor, came in early to start his shift this morning; that was at approximately six am. He parked his car in the staff parking lot, which is around back and adjacent to the pay parking service provided by the garage. He unlocked the door and entered the garage and found Kenny... excuse me, Mr. Kenneth Cunningham hanging from his neck in that noose." The Deputy pointed up at the noose. "We left it as it was until you got here, but thought it best to take him down so we could get you an autopsy report."

"That's probably a good idea." Luke said agreeably, studying the set up. He indicated the Lincoln. "Do you have any idea whose car that is?"

"Yes, sir," the Deputy replied. "I know that car, but we ran a check to be absolutely sure. It's registered to Kenneth Cunningham."

"He's using whatever he finds on site." Rossi said to Luke. "He's disorganized and opportunistic."

"I'm not so sure," Luke countered. "If the guy's a local, then he'd know that everything he needs, other than the rope, will be here. He won't need to carry around a lot of gear, and there are fewer items left behind that can be traced back to him. Besides, if this is some kind of grudge, this could be the UnSub's way of turning Cunningham's success against him."

Rossi pursed his lips and nodded his head appreciatively. Cunningham was killed in his own garage with his own tools and his own car. It made sense. "That's pretty smart, actually." He said. "Not only does it get the job done, but it covers the UnSub's tracks twice over; as you said, it's harder to trace anything back to the UnSub, and second, it leads an investigation down the wrong path."

"Wait a minute," the Deputy interrupted. "Are you saying the freak that did this lives here in Lewiston?"

"We're saying it's possible." Luke answered. "Whoever this is certainly knows the town; who's who and their habits and routines. This is how he was able to move about town undetected and murder two people in one night; nobody would have seen anything suspicious because seeing him around wouldn't raise any alarms."

Seeing that the Deputy was having a hard time accepting this idea, Rossi asked him to show them more of the scene.

With Rossi and Alvez at the garage, and JJ and Simmons at the park, once SSA Emily Prentiss was certain that everything they needed was set up and ready to go at the Sheriff's department, she went into the room where Dr's Peter Ellen Macintyre were waiting for her. As to be expected, they both looked shocked and miserable.

"Hello, my name is Emily Prentiss. I'm a special supervisory agent with the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI." She started. "First I'd like to offer my condolences for the loss of your friends, and I understand that the police have already questioned you, but all the same I have a few questions to ask that may help determine what exactly happened here. Would that be alright with you?"

"Yes, that would be fine." Peter agreed.

"You said friends, not friend." Ellen interjected. "What does that mean?"

Peter tried to hush his wife, but Emily raised a hand to assure him that it was perfectly alright for Ellen to have asked such a question."My apologies," she replied. "I thought you already knew. In addition to Mr. Bernstein, police have also identified Kenneth Cunningham's remains in his garage. I understand you two knew the both of them as patients in your practice?"

Ellen whispered Kenneth's nickname of Kenny with a whimper.

"There was two in one night?" Peter asked. "Then it couldn't have been suicides; could it? What are the chances of that?"

"Forensic evidence does suggest that neither man committed suicide." Prentiss agreed. "That is why we're here. Now, if I can ask you, what can you tell about them? What kind of people were they? Did they have a lot of friends or anyone that may have disliked them, that sort of thing?"

Puzzled, they tried to answer; often talking in tandem. They had a tendency to finish each other's sentences. This suggested to Emily they had a good marriage; a strong synergy. They told her that everyone loved them both. Both Bernstein and Cunningham were pillars of the community; in many ways they were iconic of what Lewiston was as a town. Ellen mentioned that the two of them had been close friends since grade school. Peter allowed that he supposed there may have been people who might have secretly resented them – and yet loved them at the same time.

"I would guess that sort of thing exists for anyone like Kyle and Kenny, though." He said in an attempt at levity.

Prentiss was about to ask if there were any other long time friends they shared, or perhaps if anyone specific might come to mind that may have held a resentment, when the there was a sharp rapping on the door before it swung open and a man with curly blonde hair and a build that looked like an athlete gone slightly to seed stepped in. Judging from the suit he was wearing, Prentiss could guess what was happening; this guy was a lawyer.

"Agent, this interview is over until I have time to confer with these witnesses, and I advise them both to say nothing without me being present." The lawyer announced. Evan as Prentiss began to stand up, he handed her a card. "I'm Eric Chapman, Public Defender."

Prentiss didn't like it; Chapman's timing practically screamed at her that something deeper than what was apparent was going on. She looked over the card; it certainly looked legitimate. As little as Emily liked the scenario, there wasn't a whole lot she could do about it except give Eric Chapman time to confer. She turned to leave the room.

"Oh, and agent," Chapman said after her before she got out the door. "I've already advised young master Dayton and his parents to wait for me before saying anything to you, so you may want to cool your heels for awhile."

Prentiss took a deep breath before leaving the room. From outside the room, she could see that Lewis had returned from the Examiner. At least she'd have someone to discuss what she's found so far with.

"So what did you make of that message on the rock?" Simmons asked JJ on their way back from the park. SSA Jennifer Jareau knew he was referring to the word written on the rock that the other end of the noose rope was tied around. On it, written in lipstick, was the word 'TOUCH'.

"I'm not sure," JJ replied. "If I were to guess, I'd say it's a message or a taunt of some kind. I have no idea what it might mean."

"If we can figure that out, we can catch this guy." Simmons said.

For about a minute or so, Jennifer said nothing; then finally she asked. "You've been pretty quiet since we took on this case; are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good." Matt replied. "It's just on the jet Rossi said the killings looked like lynching, right? What if he's right on the money? Maybe these two pillars of the community are the start of some kind of punishment the whole town is meant to endure?"

"Do you mean for an injustice or a crime that went unpunished?" JJ built on what Simmons was working with. "I guess that would fit. It may even involve these two personally; maybe they got away with something and the UnSub wants to see to it justice is served."

"I hadn't thought of that. Do you really think a couple of darlings of a town this size could have that kind of skeleton in their closet and still be so beloved?" Matt asked.

"You'd be surprised." JJ answered. She knew all too well how a small town can move heaven and earth to keep unbelievably dark secrets all in the name of protecting their local heroes and their image. "At any rate, once we hear what the others have, we may want to put that theory on the table."

 _Later that night_

Stan Evans was still in great shape. Though he never spent any time in the military, he liked to call himself 'in fighting form'; for even retired from the League, he certainly still had a lot to offer on any gridiron. That was his battlefield; the place where two opposing generals placed their warriors and pitted them against one another. It was the field in which Men were made and trained for life; to combine mind and muscle to overcome every obstacle, every opposition, to learn to be victorious. He definitely had learned all that. Now it was his turn to pass that tradition on; to train the next generation of soldiers. It was his turn to be the general. What better place for him than the place where it all began for him?

"I'm home." He said, taking a deep breath as he stepped out of the school and started his march towards the practice field.

In the wake of Kyle and Kenny getting killed, the school staff and the organizers of the class of '98 reunion had an emergency meeting to determine if they should proceed. Why that was even a question that needed to be asked was offensive to Stan; the only reason he could see anyone wanting to either cancel or at least postpone was because a few weaklings couldn't handle it. Stan even said so in the meeting; though not in so many words. Rather, he took a more strategic route; he politely validated the concerns of the wimps, and then pointed out how both Kyle and Kenny would want to continue as scheduled. Neither of them would want to see their class surrender or back down; they were Paladins, after all, just as he was. Of course, Eric Chapman was there, and he backed Stan up a hundred percent. Finally, the issue was settled, and the reunion would proceed on Monday as scheduled. There would be a memorial display set up specifically for Kyle Bernstein and Kenny Cunningham in addition to the display of the '98 Paladins football team; State Champions three years in a row.

Back then, Stan, Eric, Kenny and Kyle made the team what it was. They were the toast of the town. They were invincible. They were untouchable. Stan, Eric, and Kyle had to keep Kenny's head in the game and push him a little to stay in fighting form. But even so, even Kenny was a key factor in their winning streak. Of course, after graduation, Kenny really let himself go; he got soft, complacent. Sure, he made a success story out of his garage, but he also turned into a soft tub of lard.

That thought brought Stan up to tonight. Much like Kenny Cunningham, the Paladins had gotten soft since his departure. It was a disgrace, and Stan Evans could not stand for it. Starting this year, he would whip the Paladins back into fighting form...

Now on the practice field, he stopped dead in his tracks; both physically and in his thoughts. On the east end of the field, just beyond the goal post, a pickup truck was idling; some heavy metal garbage tune blaring from within it.

"What the hell is this?" He asked himself. Of course, he already knew; it had to be a couple of punk kids either high on dope or trying to score with some bimbo or another – possibly a combination of both. Stan hustled over to the truck. Ignoring the extra long coil of rope in the back, he slammed on the roof of the truck in the hope of trying to startle the kids.

"HEY!" he shouted. "WHAT DO YOU KIDS..."

There was nobody in the truck.

That was when someone clocked in the back of the head with something heavy and hard, putting his lights out.

As quickly as he acted, Stan Evans was already starting to stir by the time he had finished setting everything up. He was just adding the final touch by unbuttoning Stan's shirt. He pulled the lipstick from his pocket and wrote the word 'TOUCH' on Stan's muscular chest.

He was standing over Stan when the old jock tried to sit up, gripping at the noose around his neck. He mumbled something that sounded like a question; most likely asking what was going on. As if he didn't know what this about. He kicked Stan in the face, knocking back onto his back. With Stan stunned, he ran back to the still idling truck and got behind the wheel. Driving forward, he watched through the rear-view mirror as Stan Evans rose up off his feet beneath the high cross bar of the goal post. He savored as he watched the former quarterback struggle in vain for air or for purchase to save his miserable life.


	3. Chapter 3

SSA Luke Alvez arrived at the scene on the practice field behind the school with the rest of the team. At the team's request, the Sheriff had ordered that the scene be taped off and left exactly as it was found. The call had been called in anonymously on a disposable phone. The tip had advised that Stan Evans, who was scheduled to be the new coach for the school football team, was dead, and gave the location where he could be found.

When they got called in, the team had found a local diner to hash out what they had so far. Kyle Bernstein's murder was pretty straightforward; the only mystery really was what he was doing out in the park, on the trails, so late at night. What was clear was that once he was out there – whether he was lured there or had a legitimate reason – he was blitzed and then hanged by way of being hoisted up, one end of the rope tied to a large rock, so he would choke to death. At the time, Alvez had suggested that maybe he was attacked somewhere else and then brought to the park. There were, according to Simmons and JJ, fresh tire tracks not far from the scene. Also, on the rock, the word 'TOUCH' was written in lipstick.

Part of that matched up with he and Rossi learned at the Cunningham scene. The garage killing was a little more elaborate; in the men's room a mirror was found smashed. The working theory there was that the UnSub, likely using the pay parking lot, got into the men's room, waited until he knew Cunningham was ready to leave, smashed the window to lure Cunningham in, and then blitzed him in there in order to set up the killing. This theory was supported by a small spatter of blood, matching Cunningham's, in the rest room. On the rear-view mirror of the Lincoln, in lipstick, the word 'TOUCH' was written.

"What do we have here?" Prentiss asked the Sheriff.

"Stan Evans, age 38," Sheriff Dustman replied. "He was coming home to Lewiston to Coach the school Football team. "We all figured with his experience in the NFL, and the fact that he was Quarterback to the Paladins winning streak from '96 to '98, we'd have a winning team for sure."

"It looks to me like somebody has different plans." Luke said, and quickly regretted it. Dustman regarded him sadly, but didn't say anything.

Evans was, like the others, hanged by his neck and hoisted up to strangle to death. The other end of the rope was wrapped tightly around the goal post from which Evans was left. Even from their vantage point, the team could see the word 'TOUCH' written on his chest.

"Who wants to bet against that being lipstick?" JJ asked, pointing up at the message.

"Not me," Rossi replied. "I don't take sucker bets. I'd even be willing to bet in favor of all three of them being the same shade."

"There's fresh tire track on the other side of the goal post." Simmons announced, joining the rest of the team after looking for himself. "I don't want to say for sure, but they look a lot like the ones we found at the Bernstein scene."

"If we can get an ID on those treads and match them to a customer in Cunningham's parking service, we might have our UnSub." Alvez pointed out.

"Hold on," JJ said, mostly talking to Dustman. "You say Evans was a football hero twenty years ago?"

"That's right," Dustman confirmed. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"By any chance were Bernstein and Cunningham on the Football team as well?"

"As a matter of fact they were." Dustman said. "All the more reason to wonder why anyone would want to hurt any of them; they were living legends around here."

The team all looked at each other knowingly.

"We'll be ready to deliver a profile first thing in the morning." Prentiss told Dustman

 _Quantico_

Dr. Spencer Reid was really quite pleased with how his lecture on the science of geo profiling went; especially since it was on a Saturday. What struck him at first was the fact that he filled the hall to capacity. He had to take into account of course that about half of those who showed up were there on an audit, but that still made for a turn out much larger than he anticipated. Several of the students who were there for the actual lecture even asked some very compelling questions. For once, Reid got through the entire session without feeling awkward.

With the session out of the way, Reid decided he would show up at Quantico – even though he was mandatory leave per his employment mandate – to see if Garcia had any luck putting together the request he had made while on the Rodriguez case several weeks ago. He already knew that it was giving her no small amount of difficulty; the way she put it was that it was like somebody smashed all the information into a billion fragments, scattered those fragments across the globe and buried them halfway to China. She even had to get Kevin Lynch to help her locate and start piecing everything together. Reid's hope was that either one or both of them might have had some success by now.

As he stepped out of the elevator onto the floor of the BAU, he was approached by Kevin almost immediately. Apparently he was waiting for the elevator to return to his own section of the FBI.

"Dr. Reid," he greeted, "Just the man I was about to contact." He adjusted his glasses, and handed Reid a folder. "I was just showing Penelope what I found on one of the people you wanted her to look into, and since she's busy with a current case in New York, she suggested I get this hard copy to you toot suite.

"Thank you." Reid said, taking the folder and opening it to give it a quick glance. It was transcript from an online journal of Dr. Evelyn Voegel regarding a subject marked simply as (subject). Apparently the world renowned 'psychopath whisperer' was very careful about maintaining confidentiality on this subject. Reid would have to actually read the journal in order to discern which one the three inquiries this subject was, but it was clear to him already where this was likely going. Clearly Garcia and Kevin believed Voegel was a common link all three subjects had; specifically all three were patients of hers in some capacity. That was certainly something to go on; it was just unfortunate he would not be able to discuss any of these cases with Voegel herself. She was shot dead by one her patients several years ago and it was thought then that all her records were destroyed.

It really was true; once something is on the Net, it's there forever. All that was left was being able to find it.

"What's this case in Lewiston?" He asked Kevin, not really expecting him to know much.

"It's some hangman going after town leaders." Kevin replied. "Apparently the guy just got his third victim; Penelope is just factoring him into her research now."

"Ok, thank you Kevin." Reid said. Then he turned and left Kevin and headed to Garcia's room of screens. It occurred to him that he sort of left Kevin hanging there; ending conversations was still a little awkward for him. He just hoped Kevin didn't take it personally; Spencer actually quite liked Kevin.

When he got to Garcia's bat cave, as he sometimes called it on his own time, Garcia was on speakerphone with the team in Lewiston.

"...and all three of them were part of the same football team that won State Championship three years in a row from 1996 up to and including 1998, during which time they were collectively known as the Untouchables. Call it a wild guess, but I'm thinking that is as in 'you can't touch this' as opposed to the Caste system reference in India." She said as Reid walked in. Reid opted to remain silent since he had just entered the conversation and had no context for the subject matter.

"So we have three victims, all with the word TOUCH written on or near them when their bodies were found." Lewis said on the other end. "Now the signature makes sense."

"The Untouchables can be touched after all." Simmons said.

"To a deadly end, it would seem." Prentiss concurred.

"One thing is clear," JJ added, "somebody around here is really upset with that team."

"It could be we're looking at this wrong," Alvez suggested. "What if this is about an old rivalry from back then; what if the UnSub was on a rival team and felt cheated somehow?"

"That's kind of a stretch." JJ countered. "I mean, I get pretty emotional when the Redskins lose; just ask Will if you don't believe me, but going from being upset to hatching a murder plan twenty years later is a bit much."

Reid had to smile lightly; he remembered all too well how rabid a fan JJ could be from that time he took her to a Redskins game with the tickets Gideon once gave him as a birthday gift.

"Well then maybe it's someone local who either didn't make the team or was cut out of the glory." Alvez offered up again.

"No, I don't think so. I think Rossi was right when he suggested these look like lynchings." Simmons insisted.

"If that's the case, then they would have to be connected to something bad that also happened at around the same time." Rossi said. "My guess would be something to do with a girl in that class; considering the message was written in lipstick. By the way, do we know what shade that was yet?"

"Yeah, it was a shade called August Sunset; it was quite popular with teenage girls in the late nineties." JJ answered.

"Then that fits with the lynching vigilante type theory. It's possible that the UnSub feels some injustice was done and left unanswered. It could be Stan Evans' return triggered some kind of signal that told him it was time to rectify certain iniquities." Simmons put forward.

"It's certainly worth looking into." Prentiss acknowledged. "Garcia, see if there are any significant tragic events that took place in Lewiston between the years 1996 to 1998. Focus most specifically on events that involve a girl that went to the same school as these Untouchable players."

"Checking that now at Net speed," Garcia replied, clicking on her keyboard. It seemed to Spencer like he barely had time to blink before she was saying 'oh my' at one of her monitors and then saying "in the spring of 1998 a girl named Christine Larson committed suicide" to the team through her speaker. "That counts, right?"

It was rare for Reid to actually see Garcia when she found stuff like this; usually he only heard her voice on a speaker while he was in the field. For the first time, he was able to really take in her body language; she was clearly pleased that she successfully found something useful, but equally clearly mortified by what she found. Reid wondered for a moment if Garcia was even aware that she had a habit of glancing at one of the little fluffy-haired trolls on her desk whenever something upsetting came up on her screens. She probably was.

"Let me guess," Rossi spoke up. "She hanged herself."

"Give a cigar to agent Rossi; he's just hit the nail dead on the head." Garcia confirmed.

None of the team commented on how it was unusual for a female to commit suicide by hanging. Reid supposed the point was moot.

"Is there any indication as to why she killed herself?" Simmons asked.

"No," Garcia said, her grief really coming through in her voice. "There's just a really well written Eulogy by a Christopher Larson who I'm guessing is her father... I beg your pardon, her twin brother. He refers to her often as Tina, and outlines her short life and seems to call the town as a whole, especially the school, to task in regards to unfairly she was treated towards the end of her life. It seems that up until the summer and fall of 1997 she had a great life, and then thing went into a tailspin, although the Eulogy itself doesn't specifically say why."

"The language used implies that anyone reading it would know why." Reid interjected, reading the Eulogy over Garcia's shoulder. Garcia jumped, startled.

"It's good to hear your voice, Reid." Prentiss noted. "I take it your lecture went well?"

"Yes, it did," Reid replied; he was about to expand on the entire experience, but quickly thought better of it. It was ultimately off topic from a conversation he wasn't originally supposed to be in. He did not want to hijack the conversation on a tangent.

"Maybe I'm jumping the gun here a little, but I think we might want to talk to Christopher Larson." Simmons said.

"I'm sending all of you his work and home address... now." Garcia said.

"Great. Thanks, Garcia; you rock." Prentiss said as they all ended the talk.

"Jeepers Creepers, you scared me!" Garcia snapped at Reid, spinning her chair to face him. "When did you develop stealth ninja skills, anyway?"

"I'm...sorry?" Reid offered.

"Oh, never mind. All is forgiven. Now, what is it that brings you to my lair on your time off, oh brilliant and beautiful one?" Garcia asked.

"Well, actually, Kevin already saw to part of it," Reid replied, holding up the folder. "I was just wondered if you had made any more progress..."

Garcia growled in frustration. Reid wasn't sure if it was out of genuine resentment at him or just general agitation at the challenge she was clearly having.

"Whoever went to the trouble of hiding that information really doesn't want anybody finding it!" She exclaimed. "I have about a billion fragments on the other two files, but it's like trying to piece together an ancient scroll that has been shredded into confetti! Actually, in a way I suppose that's exactly what this mess is, isn't it? Anyway, so far I haven't put anything together that isn't already known unless you count the fact that all three of them had sought counselling from Dr. Evelyn Voegel who is now deceased as she was shot dead by Oliver Saxon in Miami just days before..."

"I remember that." Reid said. "Well, thanks anyway; I'll just analyse what I have so far." He turned to leave when Garcia made a yelping noise.

"I almost forgot!" she exclaimed. "Amid all the fragments that I found, there are some which show signs that they may be of a video file or files; I'm not sure which yet, but I am almost positive they are of some sort of taped interview."

That sounded like something Reid could use. There may be something in there that can serve as hard evidence. He thanked Garcia again and asked her to focus her efforts on his behalf on the possible video files.


	4. Chapter 4

_Lewiston, New York_

"We are looking for a white male in his late thirties." SSA Emily Prentiss told the officers in the conference room. "He either lives here in Lewiston, or grew up here and has recently returned specifically to carry out these crimes as a means of retribution for a wrong which he perceives as have been committed no less than twenty years ago which he has held on to and resented ever since."

"Given that each of his victims so far has been part of a click many of you might know as 'the Untouchables', we believe that this resentment is directed primarily at them, but this retribution is meant for the entire town; most likely regarding the suicide of Christine Larson." SSA Jennifer Jareau continued.

Emily noted that several of the officers, including Sheriff Harold Dustman, flinched at the mention of Tina Larson. Obviously they knew her and remembered the incident. Was their reaction because it was unpleasant memory, or was there more to it than that? Was it possible that some of them or even all of them knew something about her death that wasn't put on any official record?

"I can understand that this guy has some kind of beef with Lewiston and is trying to punish us by taking out our town leadership for some insane reason," Dustman interjected, "but what does that have to do with Tina Larson?"

"That's what we need to find out." Simmons replied.

"Tina committed suicide by hanging herself. Each of the victims was hanged. Our UnSub is doing to them as she did to herself, and making sure they strangle and suffer so they die with a taste of whatever suffering she endured." Lewis added.

"It's likely that he either became withdrawn from the town or even left it altogether shortly after her death." Rossi commented.

"There's also a strong possibility he was always something of an outcast or at the very least nearly invisible in the community." JJ added. "He may also be holding on to a grudge against the town heroes and the privilege and recognition they enjoyed which he never got."

"The actions he's taking now are partly to get recognition that he never received, but we believe it's even more important that whatever wrong against Tina he thinks took place be exposed." Simmons said.

The way Matt worded that pleased Emily; he didn't say the town did something to Tina Larson. That would have shut down any hope of cooperation from law enforcement or the locals. Instead, the statement was worded so that it could all be about some delusion on the UnSub's part. Based on the briefing the team had just before delivering their profile, it was clear that neither Simmons nor JJ believed there was any delusion, but throwing around an accusation of a conspiracy would not have helped their effort. Personally, Emily agreed with them. If they were going to get the town to open up about whatever was going on, though, they would have to be very gentle. This was made all the more true since apparently Barnes was breathing down their necks again. The team could not afford any missteps.

As the crowd began to disperse after the profile delivery was complete, Dustman and a deputy approached the team.

"Excuse me, Agent Prentiss?" Dustman asked to draw her attention. "About that Profile? The person you're describing sounds an awful lot like Philip Curtis. He was part of the same graduating class as Evans, Cunningham, and Bernstein, but definitely not part of the Untouchable crowd. If anything, he was just the opposite."

"What do you mean by that?"Alvez asked.

"Well," Dustman started his reply, "he was always a real trouble maker; a real malcontent. He had a real attitude problem. For as long as I can recall he was always into that Punk Rock and Heavy Metal scene; tattoos, piercings, weird hairstyles, and a real antisocial type. One thing is for sure, he had no love for this town and nothing but contempt for the way we do things around here. He left Lewiston the day after graduation."

"Do you have any idea where he went?" Prentiss asked.

"Sure I do." Dustman relied. "He may have been a bad seed, but he isn't stupid. Rumor has it he spent most if not all of his graduating year setting himself up with an apprenticeship with a tattoo parlor down in Buffalo. Now he runs his own shop; makes a pretty good living off it, too."

"I was just telling the Sheriff that I saw his car cruising by Cunningham's yesterday morning." The Deputy added. "Right around the time we were taping off the crime scene. I'm not sure when he actually got into town, but Buffalo is just a short drive away; it wouldn't be too hard to arrange transportation between both places and make it appear like you showed up after the first crimes."

"Do you know where he is now?"

"We know he's staying at the Motel 6 that's run by 'Topher Larson." Dustman answered. "I can take a car there now to bring him in."

Prentiss nodded. This was good; Christopher aka 'Topher Larson was also a person of interest. Now they had two of them clustered together which made for less legwork. "Agents Rossi, Simmons, and Jareau will go with you."

In his supply shed behind his home, he picked up the annual marked '1998' and flipped it open to the start of the headshot pages of the graduating class. He then flipped through those pages until he found the picture he was looking for; Stan Evans. With a red felt tip marker, he scratched the face out with an 'X' and then skipped ahead to the team photo and took his time looking at the shot of the legendary football team of the year; the one that won three consecutive State Championships. It was the same team that the four so-called Untouchables were on. Three were now proven to be Touchable, after all. That left one of the four; and of course _him_. He could not forget the coward. He was starting to wonder if the coward really needed to die; maybe just brushing up with death and then suffering with the stark knowledge of why would be enough. He hadn't decided yet. That was why the coward would be last.

As for Mr. Public Defender Eric Chapman went, well first he would be allowed to make sure that the Macintyre's and Dayton were in the clear. Dayton wasn't even born yet when it all started; his only crime was in having bad taste in mentors. Peter and Ellen didn't hurt Tina; nor were they involved in what followed. They were ignorant of the level of injustice that took place. He was sorry that they were about to get a huge and unpleasant wake-up call, but it was an unfortunate necessity if justice was to prevail. He knew the Feds were here, and was very much aware they would discover the truth; he was counting on it, in fact. They simply arrived sooner than he anticipated; that meant he had to act quicker than he would have liked...

There was a buzzing and the light above the door flashed on and off to indicate the buzzer at the front desk was being engaged. He had to attend to whatever he was being summoned to. Closing up the annual, he put it away and formed a smile on his face as he left the shed and went back into the Motel 6 through the back door of his home.

SSA's Rossi, Jareau, and Simmons arrived at the Motel 6 where Philip Curtis was staying during his visit in Lewiston. At the front desk, a woman in her late thirties waited to greet them; her name tag revealed her name to be Theresa.

"Will that be three rooms?" Theresa asked with just the right cheer and warmth mixed with professional courtesy.

All three agents revealed Identifications. "FBI," Rossi announced. "Agents Rossi, Jareau, and Simmons; we'd like to inquire about one of your guests. Can you direct us to the room of Philip Curtis, please?"

"We'd also like to speak to Christopher Larson as soon as he's available." JJ added.

Theresa looked at them with an expression of stunned blankness for a moment. "One moment, please." She said, and then she pushed a buzzer button on the desk. "My husband is just out back doing some maintenance. I'm sure he'll be right here. Do you mind if I ask what this is about?"

"We'd just like to ask him a few simple questions." Simmons replied reassuringly. "Now, about Mr. Curtis...?"

"I think I saw him pull out of the driveway in his Mustang about fifteen minutes ago." Theresa Larson answered. "I guessed he went out for some breakfast."

"Do you or your husband know Philip?" JJ asked. "Did you maybe go to school with him?"

"'Topher might have; I didn't. I'm actually from Long Island, originally." Theresa answered. "What's going on here? Is he in some kind of trouble?"

"It's just a few questions, ma'am." Rossi replied gently. "When he left, did Philip seem agitated or upset, would you happen to have noticed?"

Theresa shrugged. "It's hard to say. I've seen guys like him before; he looks like the type o'guy who's always unhappy about something, y'know?"

Simmons nodded. "I think we do." He said.

A man in coveralls ambled through a door behind and to the right of the front desk with a push broom in one hand. He turned his bald head at the broom and scrunched his nose at it as he set it aside before turning to his wife and the team with a professional looking smile. The patch on the right front pocket said 'Topher.

"Is there something I can help you folks with?" 'Topher Larson asked.

"Hon, this is Agents Rossi, Simmons, and Jareau." Theresa answered. They say they wanna ask you and Phil Curtis something. They're with the FBI."

'Topher's expression changed to one of concerned interest as he produced a cloth from his back pocket and used it to wipe down his hands. Was that expression belying a hint of worry? Or was it just curiosity? Rossi couldn't quite tell for sure.

"FBI, you say?" Larson asked as he approached, offering his hand to Rossi. "We don't get a visit from you guys everyday! What is it I can do for you?"

p class="MsoNormal""Would it be possible to talk someplace a little more private?" Rossi asked.

'Topher Larson stood silent a moment, and then told them they could go into his office; not once losing his awkward little smile. It was exactly the kind of grin that a small town motel manager should have; it pleaded the precisely kind of blissful ignorance that anyone would expect. Which was exactly why Rossi didn't buy it; it was too picture perfect to be anything but practiced. As 'Topher led them to his office, Rossi glanced at Simmons and JJ; it was clear that they caught on to what was wrong with 'Topher's too perfect smile, too.

"First, let me thank you for taking the time to speak with us." Rossi started.

"No problem at all; if you think I can help." Larson replied.

"We understand that Philip Curtis is staying here?" Simmons continued.

"Yeah," Larson replied, "in unit seven. But I think he left to get himself some breakfast. What about it?"

"Would you have any idea where he would go to eat?" JJ asked.

Larson shrugged. "I'd imagine he'd go where most guests go." He said. "That would be over at the Niagara Diner. It's really popular with people from out of town. Lots of locals like it, too; I guess that's why so many recommend it." He laughed lightly.

Agent Simmons turned and left the office; making his way through the motel lobby and outside where Sheriff Dustman waited. Matt would then ask Dustman to take him to the Niagara Diner where Philip might be.

"How well do you know Mr. Curtis?" Rossi asked. "Does he come by here often?"

"I went to school with him about twenty years ago." Larson replied. "We got along okay, I guess. Really, though, it was him and my sister that were close. They dated up until just before the end of '97."

"You mean your sister Christine." JJ confirmed.

"Tina, yes" 'Topher answered. "We were twins, see; that's how people around here differentiated us since we were both 'Chris' otherwise."

"You say Philip and Tina dated until near the end of 1997." Rossi said, getting them back on the track he wanted. "How was their split?"

"She broke up with him." Larson replied haltingly. "Dating Phil was kind of a phase thing. She wanted to get away from the 'bad boy' in her graduating year."

"How did he take that?" JJ asked.

For a second or two 'Topher looked bewildered; and then his eyes suggested that something clicked into place. "If you're thinking he had something to do with her suicide, you're way off." He said. "He might look like a badass, but the way I remember it he was all bark and no bite. But to answer your question, as far as I know he took it about as well as any guy could."

Philip Curtis certainly was a sight to see, SSA Matt Simmons noted as he and Sherriff Harold Dustman entered the Niagara Diner. The Sherriff pointed him out as soon as they came in. The first thing Simmons noticed was his hair. If he had done it up, it would be a bicycle spoke Mohawk; jet black with blood red tips. As it was now, it was hanging limply around his head; not quite hiding elaborate tattoos on his scalp, which were the next most obvious feature of Philip Curtis. He was covered in ink. Also of note, Curtis had multiple piercings. When they arrived, Philip Curtis was digging into what looked like the perfect Eggs Benedict, served with a cup of black coffee and a glass of orange juice.

"Sorry to interrupt your breakfast, Philip." Dustman said once they got to his table.

Philip looked up, scoffed, and went back to his eggs. "Sheriff," he said between bites. "What do you suppose I can do for you?"

"Actually, I'd like to introduce you to someone." Dustman replied, indicating Simmons. "This is Special Agent Simmons of the FBI."

Simmons flashed his credentials as Philip looked up. It appeared to Matt that they now had his undivided attention.

"You really did get caught flat-footed." He said to Dustman. "But hey; when you call for back-up, you don't mess around."

"I see you haven't changed a bit." Dustman retorted. "Nobody at the reunion tomorrow night will have any trouble identifying you."

Curtis rolled his eyes to show his disdain. "Look, Dustman, I know you aren't here on a social call. What do you and your Fed buddy want, anyway?"

"We'd like to ask you a few questions, Mr. Curtis." Simmons said.

"Then go ahead and ask. It's not like I don't know what you're gonna ask me about." Curtis said quickly. "In fact, I'll save you some trouble. I didn't have anything to do with the deaths of Bernstein, Cunningham, or Evans. I'll even go so far as to admit that I'm not exactly sorry they're dead, but I had nothing to do with it."

"That's a likely story." Dustman said. Simmons gently put a hand up to silence both of them before things escalated.

"I appreciate your willingness to talk with us, Mr. Curtis. How about we go to the station so we can talk a little more privately?" Simmons suggested.

Philip Curtis opened his mouth to make some other smart remark, but looking in Simmons eyes, he seemed to think better of it. Instead, he slammed back his orange juice, wiped his mouth with the back of his tattooed left hand and slowly got to his feet.

Before JJ, Rossi, and Simmons left to find Curtis, BAU Unit Chief Emily Prentiss gathered that Philip Curtis was often in trouble with the law in Lewiston while he lived here. The way it was told, he was a bad seed as a kid; not stupid, but completely detached and unmotivated from any sense of community. The way she was told, Philip was a perpetual malcontent; everyone was a little surprised he made it all the way to graduation, and apparently nobody was particularly upset when left town right after. It seemed to everyone's best guess that the only reason he was here now was for the reunion.

She had Garcia look into him; what she found was incongruous. Philip Curtis had no criminal record worth mentioning; a couple of speeding tickets, that sort of thing. There was one dropped assault charge when he was juvenile, but that charge was dropped after Tina Larson insisted he wasn't the one who assaulted her. Apparently he left Lewiston and took an apprenticeship at a tattoo parlor, and now runs his own shop called Ink, Inc.

They would have to wait until after the interview, but Prentiss had her doubts about whether Philip Curtis was their UnSub. From what Simmons said once they picked him up, he was starting to seem like the locals were ready to put this on him based on some stereotype they had of him that didn't match their idea of what a community should look like. Granted, he did seem to have something of a chip on his shoulder, but wasn't offering much resistance. Knowing that Simmons and Dustman were on their way with Curtis now, Prentiss had arranged for Lewis and Alvez to interview him; her idea was to keep changing faces in front of him in order to throw off any sort of routine he might think has been established; someone as organized and patient as this UnSub had demonstrated to be might be put on edge with so much change occurring so rapidly. It was also Lewis's working theory that the utter lack of a cooling off period wasn't so much a spree as it was either part of the UnSub's plan or that their presence forced him to speed things up.

Simmons and Dustman entered the building, escorting Philip directly into the interview room that had been selected. Also, JJ and Rossi were returning from their talk with Christopher Larson.

The moment the Federal Agents left his office, the practiced smile that 'Topher used when dealing with guests melted away from his face. He should have guessed that that idiot Dustman would point them to Curtis; that's what people in this town did. The fact that Philip Curtis might just be mouthy enough to ultimately frame himself wasn't the problem. 'Topher would have been fine with that. The problem was that the Feds would have him in custody much too soon for his plan to work. The way he saw it, he really only had one option; he'd have to call Eric Chapman and hope he could get that mouthy coward out of custody long enough for the whole game to play out.

He'd have to make himself sound convincing. Eric would expect him to sound worried about his friend. 'Topher cleared his throat to make ready his concerned voice. Then he dialed Eric Chapman's business line, bearing in mind that he could not let on that he knew anything about that scumbag's involvement with what really happened to Tina or the cover up in order to protect the oh-so-precious winning football team.

Eric Chapman, Public Defender, barged into the Sheriff's office just as Dr. Tara Lewis and SSA Luke Alvez were about to enter the interview room. It seemed to Eric that he responded to 'Topher's call just in time. That was good news; it meant that he could take preventative action rather than having to mitigate whatever damage Phil Curtis might have already caused.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen" Eric announced his presence. "I will ask you all to postpone any interviews or discussion with Philip Curtis until I have had a chance to confer with my client."

"He hasn't been arrested yet." Harry Dustman countered. "And how'd you even know we had him in custody in the first place? He hasn't even asked for a phone call."

"An associate of his called and requested my assistance on his behalf." Eric answered. "Apparently he's concerned that law enforcement and the FBI may be trying to railroad Mr. Curtis for crimes he did not commit. As I recall, it wouldn't be the first time that has happened."

"Wait, what's that supposed to mean?" SSA Jennifer Jareau asked.

"I'm sure that by now your team has already looked into Mr. Curtis' background and knows the answer to that question." Eric replied, almost indifferently. "Now, if you will excuse me I have a client to confer with; in private."Eric proceeded to the interview room where Philip was waiting, knowing full well there was very little anyone could do to stop him. What felt best about this whole scenario was the knowledge that as little as the punk-rock wanna-be liked him, Philip Curtis now needed Eric Chapman if he wanted even a chance of not spending the rest of his miserable life behind bars doing prison ink instead of the garbage he was doing now.

"What the hell are you doing in here?" Curtis asked as Eric came into the room.

"Believe it or not, Curtis, you actually have friends in this town." Eric answered. "One of them even called me to make sure you got treated fairly. Now whatever differences you and I might have, it is my job and I am a professional. I'm certainly professional enough to set our differences aside for the time being in the interest of justice."

Philip Curtis leaned forward, crossed his hands left over right on the table to reveal the tattoos that ran across his knuckles:

STR8 on the left  
EDGE on the right

"I'll bet even you can see the irony in that, Chapman." Curtis said with his typically glib tone. "They haven't said it in so many words, but it's pretty obvious they think I killed your boys, and now you're gonna prove that I didn't. I'd think you'd have let me rot thinking that you'd save your own ass in the process."

"Did you kill Kyle, Kenny, and Stan?" Eric asked.

"No, I did not."

"Then letting you take the fall would accomplish nothing." Eric pointed out plainly. "In fact, if I were to let you go down, then the real killer would be free and I would still be in danger; if anything, I'd only be helping the real killer get away with it. Besides, as it stands now the burden of proof is on them, not us. Also, I should be clear here; I'm currently under no obligation to do anything. That is entirely up to you. If you'd rather try to take on the cops and the Feds all by yourself, you can. The choice is yours."

Philip was silent a moment as he considered his options. Finally he sat up straight again and asked what they were going to do. Eric nodded and advised him that he made the right choice; and that if they handled this right Philip would be out the door in time for a late lunch.

While Lewis and Alvez waited for Chapman and Curtis to finish so they could start their interview, Prentiss stepped aside to give Garcia a call. Moments later, she was back with Lewis and Alvez.

"It turns out that assault against Tina Larson that the local police tried to pin on Curtis was a actually a rape." Prentiss told them. "Larson insisted it wasn't him, so the charges against Curtis were dropped."

"So who committed the rape?" Lewis asked.

"The case went unsolved." Prentiss replied. "All Garcia could find was that after an extensive interview involving then Sheriff Brian Cunningham, Councillor Joshua Bernstein, and even Mayor Andrew Chapman, she eventually managed to come up with a description of a man whom authorities believed fled across the border into Canada and was never seen nor heard from again."

"I know I'm not the only one that sees the parallel in the names here." Alvez commented. "The only one missing is Evans."

"Stan Evans was raised by a single mother." Prentiss answered. "His father left when Stan was four, and his relationship with his mother was strained to say the least; he buried himself in sports to get away from her authoritarian ways. There's one more thing; Eric Chapman was also one of the Untouchables on the '96-'98 football team."

"I get it." Alvez said. "Kenny, Kyle, and Eric were literally untouchable in this town, and they brought Stan along for the ride because of his athleticism."

"That's certainly what it looks like." Lewis agreed. "Or it could be that they latched onto him because he was a big winning play maker, and then he took advantage of the privilege they enjoyed. In any case, what we have here is a guy who was always on the outside. Maybe he wanted some payback." She said, indicating Curtis.

"But then there's the irony of Chapman stepping forward to defend his would be assailant." Prentiss pointed out. "I can't help but think maybe Chapman knows something we don't."

"That's possible." Alvez agreed. "At the very least he doesn't buy that Philip is the UnSub. On the other hand Chapman might just be a consummate professional."

"Well, whatever the case may be, it looks like Mr. Chapman and Mr. Curtis is just about ready for us." Lewis pointed at the pair through the window. The microphones were turned off so they could talk privately. It really did look like they were done their conference; and that impression was confirmed when Eric Chapman, Public Defender, peered over his shoulder at the mirror with a kind of smirk on his face.

"We're up." Alvez said, taking the lead into the interview room.


	5. Chapter 5

Philip Curtis guffawed as Lewis and Alvez came into the room.

"What the hell is this?" He asked. "Are you trying to throw me off by changing the faces in front me? What; do you think I am a schizo now?"

"Not at all, Mr. Curtis," Lewis replied. "Our unit chief sent us in here; that is all."

"We're just doing our job." Alvez added.

"We'd like to ask you a couple of questions; unless, of course, your council has any further objections." Lewis said, waving almost indifferently towards Chapman.

"No objections, per se," Chapman responded, "more of a caveat; that no questions are asked unless I am present."

"That's absolutely fine." Alvez said agreeably.

Lewis sat directly opposite Curtis. Alvez chose to remain standing; looking like he was ready to start pacing, thus giving the effect that perhaps he was not the most patient of men. Lewis took a moment to look Philip over.

"Those are some impressive tattoos." She commented. "Did you do them yourself? I understand you run a parlor in Buffalo."

"Some of them, yeah" Philip answered. He placed his closed fists on the table, arms crossed left over right, to show the same lettering across his knuckles that he showed Chapman earlier. Lewis and Alvez both regarded them. "Whatever you need to know about me is skin deep."

"You're Straight Edge." Alvez said. "So that's no drugs, booze, or smoking, right?"

"That's right. I even avoid medications as much as I possibly can." Curtis confirmed.

"By any chance is there something skin deep about Tina Larson? You two were an item at one point, am I right?" Lewis asked.

"Now hold on," Chapman interjected. "What does my client's romantic history have to do with anything here?"

"It's alright, Eric," Philip said calmly. "As a matter of fact we were. To answer your question regarding any ink about her, well yes there is a commemorative bouquet of daffodils on my inner left forearm." He turned his left arm to show Lewis the tattoo. "They were her favorite."

"Commemorative," Lewis reiterated. "So you added those after she committed suicide."

"Obviously" Philip said with a little bit of sass in his voice.

"Philip I warned you about giving these agents your lip." Chapman warned.

"It's perfectly ok, council," Alvez piped in. "I mean, we sort of expected sarcasm as a defense mechanism from your client to cover his guilt. Is that why the tat, Phil? Were you feeling guilty, like maybe you caused her to do it?" He made sure he sounded like he was getting a little peeved at the thought.

"Don't answer that." Chapman said quickly.

"I had nothing to feel guilty about." Philip answered, much to Chapman's mute dismay. "I designed and placed the daffodils so I could remember her."

"What is it, then, some kind of trophy?" Alvez asked, baiting Curtis. He didn't think Philip was really their UnSub, but this line of questioning seemed the best way to make sure. "Now all you have to do is look at your arm and you can relive how you pushed a girl to kill herself? What kind of sick coward are you?"

"That's not it at all!" Philip shouted.

"Then what is it, Phil? Explain it to me!" Alvez pressed on. "While you're at it, why don't you explain what it is about this nice little town with its decent people that's got you so pissed that you have to keep on punishing them like this?"

"That's enough!" Chapman interrupted just as it looked like Philip was about to say something. "So far there's been no mention of any evidence, circumstantial or otherwise, that my client has committed any crime. All I've heard is implicit conjecture and accusations in an attempt to illicit an emotional response. In fact, the only thing I've heard is a vague accusation of a crime that took place twenty years ago that my client was cleared of. As I recall, my client isn't even under arrest yet. So unless you have an actual charge against Mr. Curtis, I advise my client to say nothing more to you and thereby draw this interview to a close."

"Something's not quite adding up here." SSA Emily Prentiss heard David Rossi comment from behind her in the viewing room.

"Uh-oh," she said. "Rossi's having a bad math moment. We better look out." It wasn't meant in any negative way; that was just the type of levity the team had developed over so many years. The fact was, whenever senior supervisory agent David Rossi felt things weren't adding up, they usually weren't; and Rossi was tenacious when it came to making sure the math was right in all these cases.

"But he's right." Simmons said. "It feels like we're missing some key factor."

"I'm almost convinced that it has something to do with Eric Chapman over there," JJ added as Alvez and Lewis were leaving the interview room, Chapman Curtis being escorted out by a Deputy. The rest of the team turned and looked at JJ, waiting for her to finish her thought.

"Well, we all saw the same interview, right?" JJ continued. "It wasn't until the end when Luke started attacking his integrity that Curtis started getting agitated or defensive."

"Chapman, on the other hand, was seemed to be losing his cool demeanor right from start." Simmons finished the thought.

That was a good point, Prentiss reasoned in her head. She made a note to ask Dustman what else there was to know about the rape and suicide of Tina Larson; this whole case seemed to revolve around that, and when it came up in the interview, Chapman really started to unravel.

"Hold on a second." Dustman spoke up. "I thought sarcasm was generally used as a defense mechanism. Curtis was being nothing but sarcastic the whole time. Doesn't that suggest he's hiding something?"

"Not necessarily." Rossi answered. "From what I gather, sarcasm is a default position for Philip Curtis, right? Through most of the interview he was calm and cool; his demeanor was like he had nothing to hide. If he was hiding something, he'd have tried to make us believe he was being all sincere and genuine. We'd see a serious act on his part."

"One thing was clear; he wasn't acting. We saw the real Philip Curtis." Prentiss said. "All the same, I want to keep eyes on him. If Chapman is smart, he'll make sure that Curtis doesn't leave town just yet. JJ, you and Simmons go watch him; Chapman will most likely tell him to go straight back to his Motel suite and stay put. If he goes anywhere else stay on him."

"There's another thing to think about." Alvez commented. "Our UnSub has no cooling off period. Now that might be because our presence forced him to speed up his schedule, but whatever the reason, he's very likely to strike again at any time."

"It's pretty clear he's targeting the Untouchable Club. We also know that Eric Chapman is on that list; it's a pretty safe bet that he's the next target." Lewis said. "We should keep an eye on him, too."

"That's a good idea." Prentiss agreed. "You and Rossi can do that." In her head, Prentiss made a point to take the first opportunity to talk to Dustman again the she and Luke could get.

After leaving the hole in the wall that Dustman called his office, Chapman advised Philip to go back to his Motel room, and to not leave for at least twenty-four hours. While Chapman was talking like a big shot Public Defender and a job well done, Philip, for the first time in recent memory, exercised the use of his mind-to-mouth filter. He wanted so badly to comment at how Chapman all but lost his cool completely during the interview; but held his tongue and pretended like he thought it must have been part of the plan.

One thing was true, though. As little as Philip might have liked him, Eric did get him out of that dump double quick; and it was in plenty of time to grab some kind of lunch to make up for that abandoned breakfast. In his motel room, there was a bunch of take-out and delivery pamphlets. Philip went through those and settled on ordering in a pizza from a place called Brooklyn Pizza, est. 2002. When the delivery guy came and Philip paid with a decent tip, he caught sight of a black minivan across the street from the Motel parking lot. Inside it, he could make out that agent that Dustman called Simon or Simmons, and a pretty blonde agent.

"I can't believe this." Philip said to himself. "How cop TV show can you get? Nice job on your stakeout, Agents." He grinned sardonically at the minivan and waved flippantly as he shut the door to his room and pondered what he might watch on the crappy television provided.

Once he had Curtis out and sent him to his room at the Motel 6, Eric Chapman went home himself. It would be at least two hours before his wife Elsie and daughter Elizabeth got home. The quiet would do him some good; he had a lot to think about.

His three best friends were dead; actually they were murdered in two days. The things that linked them made it clear that he was bound to be the next target. The fact that they were friends, all part of the Untouchables of '96-'98, should make it clear enough to the cops and the Feds, but the problem with the idea of them coming to his aid was that would mean a lot of questions were likely to asked. The Feds would want to know everything; they were already sniffing around the whole Tina Larson connection. That was bad news. If he called the cops, the Feds would be on him, and that would be the end of his career and most likely his freedom. If he didn't, his life expectancy was significantly shortened. That was, unless, he kept watch; maybe lead whoever this psycho was away from his home, and then took him out himself.

In his office desk he had a .44 Magnum. With it, he could take down whoever was doing this once he exposed himself. He went into his office and wasted no time getting to his desk and reaching for the locked drawer at the bottom. There was a key hidden under a vase Elizabeth made him when she was in second grade. He turned the vase over.

The key was missing. He looked down and saw the drawer was open.

Behind him he heard the soft click of the hammer of the Magnum being pulled back.

"Looking for this, Chapman?" Eric recognized the voice behind him. The owner of that voice proved that the Feds were on the right track when they tried interrogating Curtis. They had the right motive but the wrong suspect. The right suspect was in the room with him now. Their 'Unknown Subject' was 'Topher Larson.

SSA's Matt Simmons and Jennifer Jareau watched from across the street as Philip Curtis paid the delivery driver for an order of pizza – Brooklyn Pizza, according to the decal on the side door – and then waved at them after scrutinizing for a moment.

"Well, it's pretty clear he knows we're watching." JJ said.

"Yep" Matt agreed. "To tell you the truth, I'm not sure this is our guy anyway. Chapman has to know he's the next target; if he thought Philip there was killed his friends, he could have blown him off and kept him in holding."

"Yeah, but you know what's weird?" JJ replied. "If Chapman knows he's next, why didn't he speak up? Why didn't he ask for police protection?"

"He's a hometown hero." Matt offered. "Maybe he doesn't want to look weak? Maybe he just presumes he will be protected like he's always been before?"

"Exactly" JJ said. "He's _always_ been protected. He was a football star and the son of the former Mayor. What if he was protected twenty years ago? What if he had something to do with what happened to Tina Larson?"

Dr. Tara Lewis and SSA David Rossi brought their minivan to a halt on the curb across the street from the Chapman residence shortly after Eric Chapman went inside.

"You know," Rossi said in an almost off-hand way; Lewis had noticed he does that a lot, especially when he's about to drop one of his patented Rossi bombs. "Football is usually a pretty big deal in places like this. When you're one of the stars of a winning team, and the son of an important municipal leader, I'd bet you can get away with just about anything."

Lewis glanced at Rossi. "What are you getting at?"

"Chapman was a bundle of nerves during that interview. It was like you and Alvez were hitting a little too close to the mark for his liking." Rossi answered, "Especially when Luke started leaning in on Curtis about Tina."

"Are you thinking that Chapman might be the UnSub?"

"Well, no," Rossi said. "But I definitely think he knows more about what happened to her than we've been told. He's hiding something."

When SSA Emily Prentiss asked Sheriff Harold Dustman how long he'd been Sheriff, he told her it had been ten years. He also said he'd been in the department about ten years before that.

"So you were there when Tina Larson was raped?" Alvez asked.

"I do remember that assault case, yes." Dustman answered. "I was a rookie, then, so I didn't play much of a role in the investigation other than being the one who responded to the call."

"What happened after that?" Prentiss asked.

"I thought of Curtis and brought him in for questioning." Dustman replied. "Then the victim testified that he wasn't the assailant, so we cut him loose."

Emily made a note of how much care Dustman was taking with his answers: He was avoiding using names and certain terms. He called it an assault, not a rape. He said the victim, not Tina. It sounded so... official, almost scripted. It was like he was reciting something he was trained to say.

Her phone rang. S much as she wanted to ignore it, when she looked at the display it was Barnes calling. She had to take it. She excused herself to attend to the Assistant Director.

Christopher Larson knocked Eric Chapman unconscious and neatly placed the .44 back into the desk drawer. He wouldn't need it for what he had planned next; with the FBI outside he wouldn't have been able to use it without it attracting their attention anyway. The reason he took it in the first place was to ensure Chapman wouldn't use it, either. Now that Chapman was incapacitated, the pistol was irrelevant.

The FBI had followed Eric. Chances were good that they were keeping eyes on Philip as well. That meant he was pressed for time, and that this next part had to be handled delicately; with precision timing. Unfortunately, that meant Christopher had an important and unfortunate choice to make; there was really only one right one to make. For the sake of efficiency, 'Topher would have to sacrifice watching this scumbag rapist Eric Chapman's suffering to a small measure as Tina suffered. He would have to place the noose so that his neck breaks and he dies quickly.

It was such a disappointment.

'Topher already had Chapman in position. He placed the noose and then shoved the Public Defender over the banister overlooking the dining room of his home. He heard the snap of Chapman's neck. Eric was dead. Larson carefully made his way down the stairs and through the dining room, pausing momentarily to look up at his work. Satisfied, 'Topher walked through the house to the back alley. Exiting the house, he closed the door and placed the hide-a-key behind the loose stone that lined the flower garden along the house itself with gloved hands. The house all locked up, 'Topher wasted no time crossing the well manicured yard and hopped the fence into the alley behind. His truck was parked three houses down; he could easily drive away and keep out of sight of the Feds. He had no doubt they would figure out what happened and his involvement. That was all the more reason he had to move quickly if he was going to reach Philip, too. With any luck, Elsie would find Eric, and Eric's death would draw the Feds away long enough to buy him some time.


	6. Chapter 6

"That's a good question." Matt agreed. "You want to know what I wonder? I wonder if maybe our guy Philip might know the answer."

JJ took that point into consideration. It made a great deal of sense. If Chapman had something to do with Tina and Curtis knew it that would go a long way to explain his contempt; which to her estimation went way beyond simply disdain for the veneer a place like Lewiston held up.

"We could go ask him." JJ suggested. "He knows we're here, anyway."

Matt raised an eyebrow. "Do you think Chapman would let him talk to us without him present?" He asked.

"That was during the interview. We're not in the interview now." JJ pointed out. "Besides, does Philip Curtis really look like the kind of guy who heeds authority, even when it's in his best interest to do so?"

"You have a point there." Simmons conceded. "Let's go see what Philip Curtis has to say when he's not suspect, but more of a character witness instead, shall we?"

"Yes, let's" JJ agreed as they both got out of their minivan to cross the street to knock on the door of the room which Philip was staying in.

Philip Curtis opened the door, saw that it was the FBI knocking and rolled his eyes. "I was advised not to speak to you without my attorney present." He said plainly as he started to close the door again.

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Curtis," JJ said quickly. "Before you turn us away you need to understand that you are not a suspect anymore, but we really believe you might be able to help us solve this case. It's clear to us that you might not like this town or very many of the people who choose to live here, but I don't believe you actually wish to see any more of them get hurt or killed."

"Based on what we have seen regarding this case so far, we really do believe it has everything to do with what happened twenty years ago." Matt added. "I'm sure it comes to you as no surprise that everybody else in town is being very tight lipped about that; you might be the only one we can turn to that can shed some light on the matter."

Philip hesitated, looked both of them over. Finally he said to JJ. "You're from a town like this one, aren't you? I'll bet you were a popular girl, but not a bitch. You were one of the so-called upper class that was actually cool to everyone; even the outsiders. Am I right?"

JJ smiled lightly. He wasn't too far off the mark at all; but then again, she figured, she probably still wears that small town girl on her like a favorite coat. "That's pretty close." She admitted. "Why do you ask?"

Philip looked down at his inner left forearm and held it up slightly to show them the daffodil tattoo. "Like I told your buddy back in the room; my whole life story is skin deep." He said. "Tina was kind of like you. Hell, she might have been you if she didn't top herself off."

Matt had taken half a step back, JJ noticed. He was letting her take lead; it was pretty clear that Philip was more willing to talk to her, anyway. That was evidently because on some level she reminded him of Tina Larson. Her suicide took place after their break up, but it still hit Curtis hard. In fact, it still had a profound impact on him, even twenty years later. JJ could relate; her sister's suicide still hit her every once in awhile. She sometimes likened it to getting suddenly getting hit in the face with a spade shovel.

"I realize this is probably very difficult for you to talk about," JJ started. "Believe it or not, I can imagine what it's like. But I do have to ask you; do you have any other inkling as to why she committed suicide?"

"What, you mean other than having to live with the rape?" Philip asked, sounding a little more sarcastic than he probably meant to.

"Yes," JJ answered, choosing to ignore the sarcasm.

"Well, maybe that jackass Stan Evans basically dumping her right after it happened couldn't have helped. Is that what you're looking for?"

"Wait a minute." Matt interjected. "You mean Stan Evans the Quarterback, right?"

Philip Curtis visibly bit back a smart remark. "Yes, that's right." He confirmed. "Tina and Stan started dating after she and I broke up. And before you ask, I'll tell you that did not have anything to do with any of the animosity between Stan and me. Up until high school, Stan and I were pals. Then I got into art and he got into sports. Then he started hanging out with those assclown jocks." He glanced over at JJ, "No offense if you were also a sports girl. I mean Kyle, Kenny and Eric specifically, not generally."

"None taken," JJ said, shrugging. "Go on."

"There's not a lot more to say, really." Philip said. JJ noticed he was avoiding eye contact; which was a first in this conversation. He was holding out.

"Did they ever catch whoever it was that raped her?" JJ asked.

"No," Philip answered. "She gave a description, but it was later concluded that whoever it was got out of town; maybe across the border into Canada. Dustman even got a report from a border guard of a guy matching the description a few days later."

"So that's the story." JJ said. "And you believe it?"

"Why wouldn't I?" Philip shot back, his sarcasm coming out of him full blast. "I mean, how could it be anything else in this postcard of a town, right?"

This time, SSA Jennifer Jareau chose not to ignore his sarcasm, but to play off it in a subtle manner instead. "Have you had any other theory, by any chance? I mean, some law enforcement were quick to jump on you as a suspect. I would imagine that at some point you gave the whole matter some thought..."

"Who, me?" Philip replied, still in his full color. "Not at all! All I know is that the Untouchables as they were called then were also inseparable, and that Stan didn't like taking no for an answer."

"Are you saying that you think Bernstein, Cunningham, Evans and Chapman raped Tina Larson and then used their status and the positions of their fathers to fabricate a narrative to cover it up?" Matt asked. "Why would any town officials do that?"

"I didn't say that." Philip replied; nothing but dead sincerity in his eyes. "You did." He turned to JJ. "What did you say your name was?"

"I'm SSA Jennifer Jareau of the FBI." JJ answered.

"JJ to your friends and colleagues, I bet." Philip nodded. "Agent Jareau, you come from small town America, right? Maybe you can tell Agent Simmons there just how far places like this will go to protect their own; their identity, their image, and if they have it their winning team." He paused and let that ugly truth that JJ never much liked but understood all too well sink in for a second. "I think I've said all I'm going to say on the matter, agents, at least without my attorney present. I hope I've been of some help to you. Good afternoon; now if you'll excuse me, my pizza is getting cold before its time."

Philip Curtis gently closed the door.

Matt was about to knock on the door again until JJ stopped him.

"He's said all he's going to say on the matter." JJ said. "To tell the truth, he's already been very helpful; we've got a perspective on this that we didn't have before, and it fits. In fact, I think I might have an idea who our UnSub is." She then produced her phone as they headed back to the van.

"Who're you calling?" Matt asked.

"I'm calling Prentiss to share what we just learned. Maybe she can press Dustman to shed even more light on everything." JJ explained. "Why don't you call Garcia to see if she can confirm a match on those tire treads you found?"

As she rang up Emily, Matt did the same for Garcia.

 _Washington, D.C._

"This is Emily Prentiss." The Unit Chief finally answered her phone.

"Agent Prentiss, this is Assistant Director Lisa Barnes." Barnes greeted, keeping her voice dry and stern. "I was calling to inquire on the progress on your case in Lewiston."

"Yes, Ma'am," Prentiss replied. "We've delivered a profile, which has produced a suspect. The only trouble is that at the moment we have a Public Defender blocking our progress in questioning the suspect; though we do have eyes on both the suspect and the Defender, whom we believe may well be the UnSub's next target."

"You make it all sound so encouraging, Agent Prentiss." Barnes countered. "But if I understand correctly, there has been a third victim since you and your team arrived."

"That's true, Ma'am." Agent Prentiss admitted; did Lisa detect a hint of trepidation in her voice? "Our theory is that our presence in the area may have prompted the UnSub to accelerate his agenda."

"I see. What about this suspect? You say you have eyes on him. Why is he not in custody?" Barnes challenged.

"We don't have sufficient evidence to hold him, Ma'am." Agent Prentiss answered.

"Let me see if I am hearing this correctly, Agent Prentiss." The Assistant Director said. "You have a suspect based on your profile, with no evidence to even arrest him, even after he has committed three murders, one of them right under your collective noses. It sounds to me as if you have made no progress at all."

"I can understand how it might seem that way, Ma'am..." Prentiss paused in mid-sentence. "Hold on a moment Ma'am, I have Agent Jareau on the other line. She and Agent Simmons are the ones with eyes on the suspect."

"That's excellent news. Patch her through to this line." Barnes ordered.

"Hello, Agent Jareau. I have you on the line with Assistant Director Barnes." Prentiss announced.

"Hello, Miss Barnes." Agent Jareau greeted. "It's good to hear from you."

It was a passably good lie; made all the more convincing since it was over the phone. Lisa Barnes had a great deal of respect for Agent Jareau. It was in the Assistant Director's mind that Jareau, and not Prentiss should be in charge of the BAU. In fact, Barnes once had Agent Prentiss suspended and then reassigned so she could put Agent Jareau exactly in that position. However, the team has a kind of solidarity that she had never seen before; all of her efforts to adjust the team were for nothing.

"Agent Prentiss and I were just discussing the case you're on, Agent Jareau. I understand that you might have some new information to share." Barnes prompted.

"Yes, Ma'am" Agent Jareau confirmed. "Agent Simmons and I were spotted by Mr. Curtis, so we took a chance to ask him a couple of questions concerning an incident that took place here twenty years ago that we believe is key to solving this case now."

"I gather this Philip Curtis is the suspect that Agent Prentiss was speaking of earlier?"

"That's correct Ma'am." Agent Prentiss said.

Then Agent Jareau relayed what their suspect had told them, and provided the necessary background that related to the case. It sounded rather far-reaching to Barnes, but then this team had already proven that knew what they were doing, even if their methods were often unorthodox. Not that any of that really mattered to her, anyway. She had managed to profile them as a collective, herself.

Collectively, they viewed her as an interfering busybody that was all but obsessed with creating rifts within their unit to suit some agenda of her own. While that may have been true at one point, and perhaps would be again, that was not what any of this was about – or not directly. The purpose of this call was served; she only wanted to ensure that their notion of her was maintained. With that purpose completed, Lisa Barnes felt certain they would have no reason to look into her activities any farther; all would seem business as usual, so Agent Prentiss would likely not notice that her team was being given what amounted to busy-work in order to allow Agents Reid, Garcia, and now Lynch to operate on her behalf unimpeded. The hard part now would be to make certain that none of the three caught wise to their role in what she and the Director had taken to calling 'Project Failsafe'.

Satisfied that her work was done, Barnes commended Agent Jareau, asked her to extend that commendation to Agent Simmons, and then allowed the team to carry on.

 _Lewiston, New York_

"Do you know what I've been thinking about?" Agent David Rossi asked conversationally as he and Dr. Tara Lewis watched the Chapman house. "I've been wondering what it is that Barnes is up to? Why did she send us to this case specifically? Does she have some personal connection?

"I don't think so." Lewis replied. "I think it's a PR stunt; 'the FBI saves Whitebread America.' She probably thinks it'll make for some good damage control for the Bureau, especially in the eyes on the Hill."

That came off sounding a little bit cold to Rossi. He glanced over at Lewis, and had to respect her poker face; if she, a black woman, was genuinely bitter, she hid it well. All the same, her point was made and it was certainly valid. If any place in the country could be called Whitebread, Lewiston was definitely on the list of places; and that was just based on the demographic of the population, the majority of which were Caucasian and over forty. Given who was in charge on the Hill, a town like this one was very much a status-quo model; the exact kind of place that they would want to show the rest of the country and the world as being America at its finest. Rossi thought about asking about the possible race issue that Lewis might be touching on, and decided against it; at least for now.

"This _is_ a nice, quiet neighborhood, though." Lewis said; apparently keen to change the subject. The Chapman house was on a quiet Avenue with a main drag street a good four blocks to their west – behind them as they were parked – and a fairly busy side street at the end of their block to their east.

"That's for sure." Rossi agreed.

A red Ford Taurus- a newer, though not newest model- rounded the corner off the street ahead of them. The clock on the dash of their van said it was 3:36 pm. Rossi glanced habitually at his watch, which agreed with the dashboard clock. The Taurus had a woman driving it with a young girl buckled up in the backseat as a passenger. She turned the car into the Chapman house driveway; right beside Eric Chapman's Town Car, cut the ignition and got out. The girl in the back let herself out as well, saying something to the effect of being big enough to do it by herself now. The woman replied saying something that was a clear indication of agreement. This was obviously Elsie and Elizabeth Chapman; Eric's wife and daughter.

"Well, now the wife and daughter are home." Lewis commented. "By now Chapman has to know he's a likely target. Do you think he'll send them away or try to draw the UnSub away from his family by leaving the house?"

Rossi gave it a second or two of thought. "I don't think either will be necessary." Rossi said. "The UnSub has been extremely specific in his selection so far. This is personal. If the loved ones of the victims are targets in any way, it's that they will have to suffer the loss of a loved one."

There was a scream from inside the Chapman house.

In an instant, both Rossi and Lewis sprang into action; they leaped out of their van and ran to the house. Lewis stopped short in the front yard to intercept the little girl – Elizabeth was her name, according to what Garcia had pulled up on the Chapman's – and Rossi pressed on into the house. He found Elsie Chapman standing the Dining Room, frozen and gazing up in shock and horror to where her husband was hanging by his neck on a rope over an overhang on the upper floor that led, presumably, to the bedrooms and maybe some kind of office. Chapman's button-down shirt was opened, and the word 'TOUCH' was written on his chest. Dave had no doubt that forensics would reveal the writing was done in lipstick; in the same shade as the previous three crime scenes.

As JJ spoke to Prentiss and from what Simmons could tell Barnes, Matt contacted Garcia.

"Fountain of all knowledge and wisdom; this is your oracle Penelope Garcia speaking. How may I enlighten you?"

"Garcia, this is Simmons." Matt replied. "I was wondering if any hits on those tire treads have come up yet."

Garcia made a kind of hissing noise that Simmons wasn't sure he much cared for. "I have isolated them to a highly common tread on a tire used for a specific brand of truck. The problem is that they are so generic that a list of trucks with matching treads is literally pages long. Well, maybe down to one page of three columns if I limit my search to trucks registered in Lewiston and the surrounding area."

"Does limiting to Lewiston specifically help?" Simmons asked.

"Not really," Garcia answered.

"What if you were to narrow it down to trucks of that make, model and year that paid for parking service at Cunningham's garage in the last, say, three months?" Simmons suggested that because it was theorized the UnSub may have parked his vehicle in the Cunningham lot in order to get to Cunningham.

"You see, that is why you're a Profiler and I'm just an analyst." Garcia commented. "Why didn't I think of that?" Simmons could hear her clicking at her keyboard. "That list is still pretty long; though a lot of the licences are from Ontario and a number of out-of-state visitors. You think this guy is a local, right?"

"That's right."

"Okay, then; let's just see what happens if I limit to the search to New York licences... oh..." Garcia trailed off.

"What do you have, Garcia?" Matt asked.

"A truck that would match the tread you're looking for in the possession of a Theresa Larson." Garcia said. "She's the wife of a Christopher Larson; 'Topher is short for Christopher, isn't it? 'Topher Larson was Tina Larson's twin brother. He wrote that angry eulogy. Does that fit?"

"Yes, it does." Simmons concurred. "Thanks, Garcia." He hung up. JJ was finishing her call.

"We have a possible match on the tire treads." Matt announced, "Christopher Larson; or more accurately his wife."

JJ nodded. "Why would she think anything was wrong if her husband borrowed her truck?" she asked; though it was more of a statement than a question. Simmons got the idea that JJ wasn't surprised at all to hear this. "It isn't much, but we could still go back to ask 'Topher a few more questions."

Just as Prentiss and Alvez were about to ask Dustman about the report he had filed in regards to the suspect in the Larson rape case, and see if he knew more about the conversation Tina Larson had with the authorities immediately following that crime when Prentiss's phone buzzed yet again.

It was Rossi.

"Yes, Dave; this is Prentiss." She greeted.

"Lewis and I are inside the Chapman house." Rossi replied. "You might want to get down here; and get JJ and Simmons here, too. It looks like our UnSub was laying in wait for Eric to get home."

That was when Dustman burst in on them. "We got another one!" He said breathlessly. "Dispatch just said Elsie Chapman called saying Eric's been hanged!"

"We're on our way." Prentiss said.

Emily Prentiss and Luke Alvez arrived at the Chapman house behind Sheriff Dustman's cruiser, and JJ and Simmons pulled up as the three of them were rushing up to the front door, which was already taped off; both Elsie and Elizabeth in chairs on the front stoop. The Sheriff halted, and opted to talk to the deceased man's family before entering. As the team entered, Tara went out and joined Dustman.

"Nothing's been touched." Rossi said as the team took a look at the scene before them. "Lewis and I made sure of that."

Emily nodded, almost absently.

"You said the UnSub must have been laying in wait." Alvez said. "Since you and Lewis were out front, he must have made his escape through the back. Was the back door open?"

Rossi shook his head indicating no. "It's locked. If you look out the window, you can see it's pretty easy to get on and off the property through the back yard. If you had your vehicle parked back there, you could get off the block and then drive away from either side without anyone being any the wiser. Especially if your vehicle is one that locals are used to seeing around town."

"He's hiding in plain sight." JJ said.

"Elizabeth – that's the daughter – says there's an emergency key hidden behind a rock in the planters lining the back yard garden." Rossi added. "So we know how he got in and out."

"That might also mean we have a fingerprint; most likely a thumb and a forefinger." Simmons suggested. "He had to be feeling rushed; maybe he got careless."

"I'm no expert, but judging from the angle of Eric's head in that noose, I'd say that's likely." Emily agreed, pointing up at the body, still suspended above them. "That looks like a broken neck to me; what do you guys think?"

Dustman entered the room, winced at the sight of the Public Defender, and after regaining his composure announced that CSI were just pulling in now. Luke was headed towards the back door to see if he could find that hide-a-key. On hearing Dustman's announcement he stopped. It was possible, Emily supposed, that the UnSub put it back where he found it. It was also wise to let CSI find it; this way they couldn't be accused of evidence tampering or screwing up the chain.

"Hey," Simmons said. "What's that in his back pocket? Is that some kind of paper?"

They looked up, and sure enough there was something that certainly looked like a paper in the back pocket of Eric Chapman's pants. It might have been a suicide note; maybe the Public Defender was ridden with guilt over what he may or may not have done twenty years ago. It was possible he was the UnSub, and finished his campaign with a suicide, but Emily doubted it. Still, it could be substantive to what was going on; maybe the UnSub planted it.

CSI entered the room and started with their process; one of them griped about path of contamination, but otherwise the process was handled efficiently enough. Once everything was tagged and catalogued, Emily asked if she could see the paper in the victim's back pants pocket. The griping technician gave her a look as if she just uttered a filthy joke, then handed her the paper sullenly. She took one glance at it and realized what it was, and had no doubt that the UnSub planted it. She also had a pretty good idea who the real UnSub was.

"Guys, I think you should all get a look at this." She said. "It's a suicide note, alright; but Chapman didn't write it."


	7. Chapter 7

Philip Curtis had barely sat back down to dig into his pizza when he heard a squeal of tires outside. At first he thought it was probably nothing more than some kid burning rubber, but then he took into account he wasn't in Buffalo; this was Postcard, USA. A kid burning rubber would probably be a scandal worthy of class action suit around here. Of course, some creep ruins a girl's life and drives her to suicide and that gets swept away like dust under the rug. Curious, he got back up and took a peek out the window.

The Fedmobile was gone. Apparently Agents JJ and Simmons had somewhere more important to be. Not that Philip particularly minded; that just meant watching him wasn't a thing anymore. He knew it was awful to think this, but the idea that maybe someone else got lynched and thus removed him from the suspect pool crossed his mind.

"That's a screwed up way to look at." He admonished himself. "Even this hole of a burg doesn't deserve that."

Still, there wasn't much he could do about it. Eric might be a piece of crap, but he was right; the best move he could make right now was not to move. It was only a matter of time before the Feds figured out who was doing this, and then he'd be cleared for sure. Philip retreated from the window. He got two steps away when a knock came to his door. Peering through the peephole, Philip saw that 'Topher was standing just outside.

"Hi, Phil," "Topher greeted as he opened the door, wearing that slightly goofy but somehow endearing grin he always had. "How've you been?"

Doing his best to tone down his sarcasm and failing miserably, Philip replied: "Well, let's see. My breakfast got interrupted by that flatfooted Dustman and some superfed, I got grilled by a shrink and thug with enough Machismo to make Evans look like lamb, and somehow I ended up owing my freedom- tentatively speaking – to that slimy assed Chapman. Other than that I'm doing great."

'Topher chuckled. "You're right; I guess it was a kind of stupid question. You always had a funny way of putting things. What I meant is how are holding up?"

"I'll be fine." Philip answered. "I don't mean to go sideways on you like that, 'Topher. You're one of the good ones."

"That's good of you to say; thanks." 'Topher said. "Sorry about your breakfast, by the way. When they came here looking for you I told them you wouldn't do anything like that. Then I kind of figured the best thing was to point them in the right direction and call in help for you." He raised a hand in appeasement. "Eric Chapman might be slime, but he's the best slime when it comes to getting people out of tight spots."

"I can't argue with you on that one." Philip conceded.

'Topher looked over Philip's shoulder into the room. "What've you going on in there, anyway?" He asked.

At first Philip was about to tell him it was none of his business, but then decided it didn't matter. "Just some Brooklyn Pizza and a flick" he answered. He was about to mention that the Feds were asking him about Tina, then thought that might not be such a cool thing to do; she and 'Topher were pretty close; as twins tend to be. 'Topher really was one of the good ones in this part of the State; he didn't need to have that wound opened up again.

"Hey, I guess you know by now they think these killings have something to do with Tina, right?" 'Topher breached the subject anyway. "Or at least that's what it sounded like when one of them started asking me some questions when the other ones went to pick you up." By now, 'Topher's grin had faded.

"Yeah, that's how it looks to be shaping up." Philip confessed to knowing that; there was no point in denying it.

"I was kind of wondering if maybe I could come in and we talk about that." 'Topher suggested. "You know, maybe we can figure out what that all means."

Philip shrugged and said that would be fine. 'Topher crouched down to tie up his shoe or something as Philip turned his back and stepped into the room. He heard the door close behind him, and had just enough time to realize that 'Topher wasn't tying his shoe before all went to black as something heavy hit the back of his head.

JJ read the note when it was passed to her:

 _April 20, 1998_

 _'Topher:_  
 _I'm sorry. I know how lame that is, but that's all I have right now. The thing is, I've been part of a big lie all year. I can't do it anymore; living with that lie is eating me alive. By the time you get this, I'll be out. I know it's selfish, but I can't even. I can't live with the lie, and can't expose it, either._  
 _The official record says that I didn't know who did it. No, that isn't right, if I'm going to be honest about anything, especially with you, I might as well start by calling 'it' what 'it' is: The official record says that I didn't know my rapist. That's a lie. I know exactly who raped me. It wasn't Philip, if that's what you're thinking. This is where the lie comes in; when I gave my statement, everyone was there. You knew that. You know about how even before I made my statement they all thought it had to be Philip and how I told them it wasn't him at all. What you don't know is that when I told them it wasn't Phil, I told them who did it. What you don't know is that it was Stan. He and Eric and Kenny and Kyle were down at Devil's Hole. Stan wanted to 'party'. I said no and then he got all mad. I'll spare you the details; I'm sure you don't want to know all the things they did to me, but you do deserve to know the truth. You're my brother and you've always had my back, so I owe you that much._  
 _As soon as I told them the truth, they rushed me into a little room. This was Sherriff Cunningham, Mayor Chapman, and Councillor Bernstein mainly, but other deputies were there, too. Deputy Dustman wasn't; I remember that. He was processing Philip out. They told me how the town couldn't afford to have this kind of mess on their hands; they didn't say it in so many words, but it was obvious they meant they couldn't have their winning ball team besmirched. Then they offered me this big pile of money to say it was some stranger, and then they had a sketch artist make up a sketch so I could say that that was the man who raped me. Then Sherriff Cunningham called in Deputy Dustman, and had him circulate the sketches. I knew it was wrong, but I just wanted the night to end, so I took the money and went along with the lie._  
 _I can't live with it anymore, but I can't expose it, either. If I try, then I'll just look like some tramp who cried wolf. I know how lame this sounds, but this is the only way I can know peace._  
 _I'm sorry. I love you, and I'm so, so sorry._

 _Tina._

"Well," JJ said, "based on the eulogy he's on record for delivering and the ad he put in the paper, he does fit the Profile."

"It's perfectly understandable why he'd be so angry with the town in general." Lewis added.

"I'd say so." Simmons agreed. "His twin sister was raped, then coerced and bribed into covering up for her attackers and couldn't live with it. Who could?"

"I'd be pretty pissed off, too." Rossi concurred.

Prentiss turned and looked at Dustman. "Did you know this cover up was going on?" she asked.

Dustman shook his head no. "I was fresh on the force." He replied. The look of shock and dismay on his face was genuine. "I was given a copy of the sketch and ordered to distribute it; I swear I had no idea this was going on. At the time I had no reason to doubt that the composite was the real thing, and saw reason to question the report from that border guard of seeing someone who matched the description crossing over into Canada."

JJ believed him. "It would have been a simple thing for Bernstein, Cunningham, or Chapman to call the crossing guard ahead of you and set all that up in order to complete the cover."

"What I don't get is this: why would he wait so long? Why not try to expose this scandal right away? I mean, doesn't this delay open the possibility this might be some kind of frame job?" Dustman asked. He pointed at the note JJ was holding. "Couldn't that be a plant?"

"Of course it's possible, but not likely." Alvez answered. "What's more likely is that he went on over the years trying to put it all behind him."

"He was born and raised here and probably conditioned to think in terms of what-is-best-for-the-town." JJ added. "Having that kind of mentality ingrained in your mind all your life can be a powerful thing. He may not have really known to do anything different."

"Stan Evans leaving most likely helped him put the matter to rest." Simmons elaborated.

"Then when he learned Evans was coming back something in him snapped." Lewis concluded.

"There's also the possibility he spent all the time planning this revenge, or should I say justice, play out." Rossi suggested. "His leaving the note might be part confession, part taunt; his way of saying 'vengeance is mine' or 'justice is served'."

"So he's some kind of vigilante." Dustman said.

"In a word, yes," Prentiss concurred. "In this case its mission based vigilantism, and it may very well be that his mission is accomplished."

"I wouldn't be too surprised if he either turns himself in or is waiting calmly for us to come pick him up once we figure it all out." Alvez said. "I've seen that happen before."

"How does that make sense?" Dustman asked. "Wouldn't he think he's done the right thing and then try and run or evade capture?"

"That would depend on his sense of right and wrong." Simmons answered. "Now that he's eliminated everyone he feels have wronged him, he might acknowledge that he has to pay for his crimes, too."

"His plan might be to throw himself at the mercy of the Court." JJ suggested. "He could try to build a case around the circumstances causing massive emotional distress, and play on the fact he turned himself in as a factor to appeal for leniency." She didn't know for certain if there was any sort of precedent for something like that, but she could almost imagine Spence rattling of statistics and examples to that effect if he were there.

"It might work, too." Rossi said thoughtfully.

"Whatever the case may be, we have to bring him in." Prentiss said, cutting the speculations off. "Sherriff, is there anywhere else Larson might go besides the Motel where he works and lives?"

"There's the old Larson house." Dustman answered. "As far as I know he still holds the title deed, though nobody has lived there since his dad passed on about three years ago. You think he might be hiding out there?"

"It's possible." Prentiss confirmed. "Rossi; you, Lewis, and Alvez go to the Motel. Simmons, JJ and I will go with the Sherriff to the old Larson house."

With that, each group geared up and headed out to their destination.

Philip was starting to wake up. 'Topher had everything set up just the way he needed. As soon as he had the coward Philip Curtis incapacitated, he brought Philip to his old family home; the one where Tina killed herself. More specifically, 'Topher brought the coward who ran away to the actual room where Tina did herself in; he had it set up just the way it was when he found that April 20 in 1998. That alone took months to get just right. He was originally going to put Stan Evans in here, but then Philip showed up.

So now Philip gets to see what it was like. Philip Curtis would see firsthand the consequences of his cowardice; his refusal to live up to his big talk about standing up for the greater good no matter what the status quo might be.

"Wake up, Phil." 'Topher demanded, slapping Philip's cheek lightly.

Philip came to full wakefulness. The initial grogginess must have made it difficult for him to comprehend what was going on. He was likely puzzled why he was standing, and then confused and uncertain where he was, or shy his hands were duct taped behind his back, why was he standing on a chair, and what was around his neck.

"What..." he stammered. "What is this? What's going on?"

'Topher Larson gestured for Philip to look around. "Don't you remember this place, Phil?" He asked. "It's Tina's old room. You do remember Tina, don't you?"

Philip suddenly realized what was happening; what was about to happen.

On their way out of the precinct, Sherriff Dustman pulled a little bit of jurisdictional grandstanding. He ordered one of his Deputies – Spivey; his name was – to join Rossi, Alvez and Lewis. That was fine as far as Rossi was concerned; it was his county, after all. If Larson was at the Motel, Spivey was welcome to make the arrest. That might be good for the Town Morale, in fact; once they learn what was really going on. It would definitely do lot to help the Sherriff save a little face in his department if not in the whole town. While on route, another cruiser joined them. That was fine, too, as far as Rossi was concerned. If 'Topher was there – though Dave was doubtful he would be- he might resist. Not only that, but it would look good for the department if there were officers participating in any search of the premises.

When they got to the Motel 6, Deputy Spivey pulled Rossi aside.

"Look, I know we might seem like a bunch of small town keystone cops to you, but we're not stupid. We know how this town works. I'm also fully aware that Terry might be an accomplice here. All I'm asking you right now is that you let me handle talking to her." He said.

"Fair enough," Rossi agreed. "It's your town, it's your show. Think of us as guest appearances here to help you out." He stepped aside and let Spivey lead the way. He could tell by the looks exchanged by Alvez and Lewis that they weren't so sure this was the best move, and he understood why. They were concerned that the police corruption from twenty years ago might still be in play today. Dave didn't think that was the case; Dustman said he had no idea what was happening back when he was a rookie, and Rossi believed him. Also, Spivey was clearly too young to have had anything to do with what happened back then. In fact, Dave would guess the Deputy was in grade school at the time; maybe even babysat by Tina, if she ever was a babysitter.

With Spivey in the lead, they entered the reception area of the motel, where Theresa Larson was at the front desk. It was clear she knew who Spivey was as she was smiling as if genuinely glad to see him.

"Well, hello, Darren!" She greeted warmly. "You brought the FBI Agents with you, I see. How can we help you, now?"

"Hi, Terry," Spivey answered. "Listen, by any chance is 'Topher around? We need to ask him a few questions."

Terry's smile faded abruptly. "He's off on some errand. What's this about? You don't think he..."

"We're really sorry to disturb you again, Ma'am," Rossi interjected. "It's just that there have been new developments in the case, and..."

"What new developments?" Terry Larson interrupted. She looked at Spivey. "Darren, what is he saying?"

Deputy Darren Spivey balked a moment. The time it took for him to take a breath to speak was just enough time for Theresa whimper a denial.

"There's been another hanging, Terry." Spivey told her. "I don't see how sugar coating that will do any good. It was Eric Chapman; we just found him. There was a letter on him that was written to 'Topher."

"Oh, my God," Theresa stammered. "You mean Eric wrote a confession suicide note to 'Topher, right? But why?"

As this exchange was going on, Lewis and Alvez went about the business of searching the premises; Lewis went outside to check the suites and Alvez went through to the back where the Larson residence was located.

"No, Terry, that's not it." Spivey replied. "The letter was written by Tina. We think she wrote it right before she... We think maybe 'Topher put it there."

Theresa Larson broke down in tears and protests of denial; saying this had to be a mistake and that 'Topher would never do anything like that. It was just the kind of reaction Rossi would expect from a spouse who had no idea. She wasn't an accomplice, as far as he could tell.

Lewis came rushing back to the main entrance just as Alvez came in from where he came.

"You have to see what we found out back in the shed." Alvez said.

"Philip Curtis is gone." Lewis announced at the exact same time. "The door to his suite is wide open, his car is in the lot, and there's a large wrench in the room; it looks like it has blood and hair on it."

"The rest of the house is clear." Alvez said, adding to his commentary regarding the shed.

"He has Curtis." Rossi said. "For some reason Larson thinks he deserves the same punishment as the others. Deputy Spivey, I need you to send your officers to the old Larson house, that's where they most likely are. I'll call Prentiss to let her know. Lewis, you join Spivey to talk to Theresa. Alvez, let's take a look at the shed."

Rossi got on the phone as Simmons and an officer left for the Larson house. Lewis and Spivey took Theresa to the office, and Alvez showed Rossi the way to the shed out back.

"Think about what you're doing, 'Topher." Philip said, trying to reason with him. The look in 'Topher's eyes suggested this was a futile effort, but Philip still had to try. "You know I had nothing to do with what happened to Tina. The cops here had me and she told them to let me go."

"You did nothing." 'Topher countered.

At first Philip had no idea what 'Topher meant. If 'Topher knew he was innocent, then what was all this for?

"You let them lie to save their team." 'Topher said. "You did nothing to make sure they paid for their crimes. You ran away like a coward. That makes you just as guilty."

Before Philip could point out the fallacy in 'Topher's reasoning, 'Topher kicked the chair Philip was standing on out from under him. Desperate, Philip did the only thing he could think of; he curled his legs up as close to his body as he could and arched himself upwards, almost in a skin the cat form, hoping that this might lessen the pull of the rope on his neck. In his struggle for self preservation, he didn't hear the sires of the police approaching.

'Topher heard them, though. He stepped back slowly from Philip as he struggled to stay alive. He might even succeed; it didn't matter. If the coward survived, he'd have to live with his cowardice revealed forever. Smiling, 'Topher got down to his knees and put his hand behind his head, interlocking his fingers.

"Larson is here," Emily told Simmons and JJ as they pulled up in front of the old Larson house with Dustman. "It looks like he might have Curtis with him." she had just finished on her phone with Rossi.

That puzzled Simmons a little. "Why would Larson take Curtis?" he asked. "Wasn't Curtis cleared of all charges?"

"Often in towns like this, even the suspicion of a crime like that leaves a black mark on your name." JJ explained. Peripherally, Simmons noted Dustman cringed slightly, indicating that he was not innocent of this kind of prejudicial thinking.

"Maybe he doesn't believe Philip is completely innocent." Dustman suggested as they rushed to the door.

Taking position, Prentiss banged on the door and announced their presence. There was, predictably, no response. Emily gave Simmons and Dustman a curt nod and stepped aside. Side by side, the Sherriff and Simmons kicked the door open and the others charged in.

The coward Philip Curtis was getting tired just as the Feds and the cops kicked in the door; they would probably get upstairs in time to rescue Phil, but maybe not. It didn't matter; justice has already prevailed. On his knees and his fingers still interlocked behind her head, 'Topher Larson waited and listened to the Law search and clear the house room by empty room. Two of them were heading up the stairs. In a matter of moments they would find this room- Tina's old room- was the only room that had anything in it.

Simmons heard Dustman declare the room across the hall was clear; all of them were empty so far. Simmons himself pushed the door in front of him open to discover a girl's bedroom – presumably Tina Larson's – with two men in it. One was 'Topher Larson; he was already on his knees with hands on his head, fingers interlocked. He was watching as the other man, Philip Curtis was struggling to breathe through the noose tied around his neck above a knocked over chair.

"They're in here!" He shouted, rushing into the room. With Dustman right behind him, Simmons ran past Larson and grabbed Curtis by the waist to hold him up and relieve the pressure around his neck, thus reducing the constriction of the rope and allowing him to breathe. Behind him, the Sherriff subdued their suspect, cuffing him while reading him his rights.

The next one in the room was JJ. She ran in to help Simmons; as Matt held Curtis, she lifted the noose over his head. Together they eased him down, and Dustman and Prentiss took Larson away.

"It doesn't matter." Larson said, sounding like he was declaring victory. "Justice has already prevailed. Do you hear me? Justice has prevailed!"


	8. Chapter 8

_On the jet_

"It's kind of funny, isn't it?" Dave Rossi said, breaking Prentiss out of her fugue. That seemed to happen a lot after a case; everyone always seemed to go off into their own little world.

"What?" she asked in reply.

"We got the bad guy, he was taken in alive and unharmed, and we saved his final target." Rossi explained. "I'd call that as good a win as we can ask for. Yet despite all that, everyone on board look like we're the losing team of a big game."

"I think it's just our way of processing." Emily answered. "And just how much of a win did we have back there? I mean what kind of ruin will that town be in after this?"

"I guess you have a point, there." Rossi allowed. "On the other hand, a killer got put away, and it was their Sherriff that got the collar. I have a feeling that will be played up, and the circumstances behind the killings will be either downplayed or made out to be an unsolved mystery."

Prentiss exhaled sharply. Odds were good that Dave was right. It was very likely that for all of 'Topher Larson's efforts, his campaign would probably be made out to be nothing more than a psychotic rampage.

"So, what do figure Barnes is up to, anyway?" She asked, changing the subject. "Should we be on alert?"

"Well, let's not forget what happened last time she tried to reformat the team to her design." Rossi replied. "I imagine she's still stinging from that."

"So did he say anything on the ride?" JJ asked Simmons.

For a moment, SSA Matt Simmons stared blankly at JJ; taking a moment to register the question. Ironically enough it was exactly the thing he was thinking about.

"It was weird," he answered. "A first as far as I know; I asked him why he did things the way he did."

"You mean like he almost counted on getting caught." JJ confirmed. "He probably figured he'd get leniency in the court due to temporary insanity or something."

"But that's not what he said." Simmons countered. "If anything, his answer made a kind of twisted sense, if you can believe that."

"This I have to hear." JJ commented, apparently interested.

"He said of course he meant to get caught. He broke the law in order to exact justice. He was convinced his kills were righteous- not religiously – but he still had to answer to the court of law and was fully prepared to deal with whatever consequences the Court saw fit. 'Unlike those bastards, I am not a hypocrite or a coward.' He said."

"You're right about one thing," JJ replied. "That's a new one on me. What do we even call that; an anti-hero complex?"

"Maybe," Simmons concurred. "Then he even went on to counter his apparent logical contradiction about Philip Curtis; He was convinced that Curtis knew what really happened all along and did nothing about it. His work around that one was that he himself knew the only real justice would be for the Untouchables to meet the same end as Tina, but had to make sure he was ready to answer for his own crimes before taking any action."

"It sounds like he's got everything covered in his own mind." JJ muttered.

 _Washington, DC_

Deputy Director Lisa Barnes put the hard copy of the file marked by its codename 'Failsafe' into the cabinet in her office. Closing the drawer which locked upon being securely shut, she then collected her coat and made ready to leave just as her office landline rang its double tone to indicate it was an inter-departmental call from the Director himself.

Barnes let out a sigh. She had no doubt about what the call was regarding. The director wanted an update on the Failsafe project. The unfortunate thing was she didn't really have any new information to give him. Yes, she often rode SSA Emily Prentiss hard for results; what Lisa sometimes wondered was if Emily, in her criticism, ever took into account the kind of pressure that she, Lisa, was under constantly; not just from the director and other authorities that the Unit had no idea even played a role in either of their affairs, but also and even especially from herself.

But now was not the time for self pity; if she was to keep her position, she could not show any of that to the Director. Taking a deep breath, she picked up the phone.

"This is Deputy Director Lisa Barnes." She greeted.

"Lisa," the Director greeted back, knowing full well that she would recognize him by his clear, baritone voice alone. "I trust I'm not disrupting anything too important?"

"Not all, sir." Lisa replied. "How can I help you?"

"To start with, I wanted to congratulate your team on a job well done in Lewiston." The Director began. New York was his home State, and the town of Lewiston held a lot of sentimental value to him, Barnes knew; that was part of the reason why she handpicked that particular case to keep the rest of the team busy as Agents Lynch, Garcia, and Dr. Reid poked around the Original Butcher case from Miami. "Their Subject was apprehended alive, and despite the unfortunate fact that two more lives were lost before that, all damage was essentially mitigated before it got too far out of hand. As I understand this summary I looked over, it is believed that FBI presence may have contributed to this..." He hesitated, looking up the suspect's name, "Christopher Larson to accelerating whatever plan he may have had. Is that correct?"

"As I understand it, yes, sir, that is correct." Barnes confirmed. "I'm sure SSA Prentiss or Jareau will explain in more detail when their full report is complete, but I would imagine the very fact Larson rushed his plans meant he made mistakes which ultimately led to his capture."

"I suppose it isn't too important." The Director said. "It's tragic for Lewiston, of course, all I mean is that whatever chance of this tarnishing the Bureau can be mitigated easily enough, and we can chalk it up the necessities of making an omelette."

"I agree, sir."

"I'm glad to hear it." The Director said. "Before I forget, I was also curious if there was any new progress on that other case we discussed?"

Inwardly, Barnes cringed. She knew this was coming, but still felt apprehensive about telling him of the lack of progress. "I can tell you that our technical analysts have managed to compile enough information on one of the relevant subjects and have passed it on to the Agent they are working with on that." Barnes replied, hoping it sounded better than it was. "However they are experiencing a great deal of difficulty with the fragments on the other subjects. In fact, we can't be certain even if any of them are going to be of much help."

The Director was silent a moment. Barnes could almost feel his mind working through the phone lines. "I thought that would be the case." He said finally. "It seems our final subject on this project is far more elusive than we originally thought, and that says a lot. All the more reason to believe he is a perfect candidate."

"Yes, sir," Barnes agreed.

"That said, I find it hard to believe he has the kind of savvy to cover his tracks well enough to hide his digital trail from two of our best analysts. I'm certain he is getting some help."

"You think he has an accomplice?" Barnes asked.

"I think a better word would be ally." He replied. "Perhaps our efforts would be more fruitful if we tracked down this ally. If we find our candidate's technical support, we find him. Now we must ask; where d owe begin our search for the technical support?"

It was clear in his tone that the Director already knew the answer, but wanted her to say it. "The case originates in Miami." She said. "Our candidate, after years of being thought dead, reappeared briefly in Miami. If he has allies, they are almost certainly based in Miami."

"I believe it is time we advise Spencer that we are aware of his private investigation." The Director said. It was rare for his to use an Agent's first name, Barnes noted; that was usually reserved for Agents he either genuinely liked and respected, or intended to intimidate. She wasn't sure which the case was for Dr. Reid. "Make it clear to him that we encourage him to continue, and that we want to keep the circle small on the matter; he is likely to think it is because we don't want to openly disparage Agent Lundy's reputation. Once that is clear, suggest strongly that he pursue the location of this ally in Miami."

"I will do that, sir."

"Very good; that will be all." The Director said. "Good night, Lisa."

The call was disconnected before Barnes could reply.


End file.
